wV 


Raymond  Best 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


THE  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS 

OF 

JOHN   FISKE 

WITH    MANY    PORTRAITS    OF    ILLUSTRIOUS 

PHILOSOPHERS,  SCIENTISTS,  AND 

OTHER    MEN    OF    NOTE 

IN  TWELVE  VOLUMES 

VOLUME  VI 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 


OTHER 


Joseph  Ernest  Renan 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 

BY 

JOHN   FISKE 


Tis  6°  oiStv  el  TO  ffjv  /ueV  eon  Ka.TBa.vtlv, 
TO  Ka.ida.veiv  Se  £fiv  ; 

EURIPIDES 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

(Cf;e  fiitccsibc  press, 
1902 


COPYRIGHT    1876   BY  JOHN   FISKE 

COPYRIGHT    1902   BY  HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN   &   CO. 

ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


TO 

JAMES  SIME 

MY  DEAR  SIME  : 

Life  has  now  and  then  some  supreme  moments  of  pure 
happiness,  which  in  reminiscence  give  to  single  days  the  value 
of  months  or  years.  Two  or  three  such  moments  it  has  been 
my  good  fortune  to  enjoy  with  you,  in  talking  over  the  mys- 
teries which  forever  fascinate  while  they  forever  baffle  us.  It 
was  our  midnight  talks  in  Great  Russell  Street  and  the  Addi- 
son  Road,  and  our  bright  May  holiday  on  the  Thames,  that 
led  me  to  write  this  scanty  essay  on  the  " Unseen  World," 
and  to  whom  could  I  so  heartily  dedicate  it  as  to  you  ?  I 
only  wish  it  were  more  worthy  of  its  origin.  As  for  the 
dozen  papers  which  I  have  appended  to  it,  by  way  of  clear- 
ing out  my  workshop,  I  hope  you  will  read  them  indulgently, 
and  believe  me 

Ever  faithfully  yours, 

JOHN   FISKE. 

HARVARD  UNIVERSITY,  February  j,  i8j6. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    THE  UNSEEN  WORLD  i 

II.    "THE  TO-MORROW  OF  DEATH"      .             .  77 

III.  THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY      .             .             .  .87 

IV.  THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA            .             .             .  133 
V.    A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES            .             .  .170 

VI.    DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION            .  182 

VII.    NATHAN  THE  WISE              .             .             .  .       193 

VIII.    HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES        ...  221 

IX.    THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL           .  .       249 

X.    SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS        .             .  276 

xi.  LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE      .         .         .  .310 

xii.  PAINE'S  "  ST.  PETER  "           ...  347 

XIII.    A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART      .             .             .  .366 

XIV.    ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE     .             .  395 
INDEX  ........       443 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

JOSEPH  ERNEST  RENAN      .     .     .    Frontispiece 

GOTTHOLD  EPHRAIM  LESSING 194 

JOHN  LOTHROP  MOTLEY 276 

JOHN  KNOWLES  PAINE 348 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 
AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 

I 

THE   UNSEEN   WORLD 
PART   I 

WHAT  are  you,  where  did  you  come 
from,  and  whither  are  you  bound  ?  " 
—  the  question  which  from  Homer's 
days  has  been  put  to  the  wayfarer  in  strange 
lands  —  is  likewise  the  all-absorbing  question 
which  man  is  ever  asking  of  the  universe  of 
which  he  is  himself  so  tiny  yet  so  wondrous  a 
part.  From  the  earliest  times  the  ultimate  pur- 
pose of  all  scientific  research  has  been  to  elicit 
fragmentary  or  partial  responses  to  this  question, 
and  philosophy  has  ever  busied  itself  in  piecing 
together  these  several  bits  of  information  accord- 
ing to  the  best  methods  at  its  disposal,  in  order 
to  make  up  something  like  a  satisfactory  answer. 
In  old  times  the  best  methods  which  philoso- 
phy had  at  its  disposal  for  this  purpose  were 
such  as  now  seem  very  crude,  and  accordingly 

i 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ancient  philosophers  bungled  considerably  in 
their  task,  though  now  and  then  they  came  sur- 
prisingly near  what  would  to-day  be  called  the 
truth.  It  was  natural  that  their  methods  should 
be  crude,  for  scientific  inquiry  had  as  yet  sup- 
plied but  scanty  materials  for  them  to  work 
with,  and  it  was  only  after  a  very  long  course 
of  speculation  and  criticism  that  men  could  find 
out  what  ways  of  going  to  work  are  likely  to 
prove  successful  and  what  are  not.  The  earliest 
thinkers,  indeed,  were  further  hindered  from  ac- 
complishing much  by  the  imperfections  of  the 
language  by  the  aid  of  which  their  thinking  was 
done ;  for  science  and  philosophy  have  had  to 
make  a  serviceable  terminology  by  dint  of  long 
and  arduous  trial  and  practice,  and  linguistic 
processes  fit  for  expressing  general  or  abstract 
notions  accurately  grew  up  only  through  num- 
berless failures  and  at  the  expense  of  much  in- 
accurate thinking  and  loose  talking.  As  in  most 
of  nature's  processes,  there  was  a  great  waste  of 
energy  before  a  good  result  could  be  secured. 
Accordingly  primitive  men  were  very  wide  of 
the  mark  in  their  views  of  nature.  To  them 
the  world  was  a  sort  of  enchanted  ground,  peo- 
pled with  sprites  and  goblins  ;  the  quaint  notions 
with  which  we  now  amuse  our  children  in  fairy 
tales  represent  a  style  of  thinking  which  once 
was  current  among  grown  men  and  women,  and 
which  is  still  current  wherever  men  remain  in 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

a  savage  condition.  The  theories  of  the  world 
wrought  out  by  early  priest-philosophers  were 
in  great  part  made  up  of  such  grotesque  notions  ; 
and  having  become  variously  implicated  with 
ethical  opinions  as  to  the  nature  and  conse- 
quences of  right  and  wrong  behaviour,  they  ac- 
quired a  kind  of  sanctity,  so  that  any  thinker 
who  in  the  light  of  a  wider  experience  ventured 
to  alter  or  amend  the  primitive  theory  was 
likely  to  be  vituperated  as  an  irreligious  man  or 
atheist.  This  sort  of  inference  has  not  yet  been 
wholly  abandoned,  even  in  civilized  communi- 
ties. Even  to-day  books  are  written  about  "  the 
conflict  between  religion  and  science,"  and  other 
books  are  written  with  intent  to  reconcile  the 
two  presumed  antagonists.  But  when  we  look 
beneath  the  surface  of  things,  we  see  that  in 
reality  there  has  never  been  any  conflict  between 
religion  and  science,  nor  is  any  reconciliation 
called  for  where  harmony  has  always  existed. 
The  real  historical  conflict,  which  has  been  thus 
curiously  misnamed,  has  been  the  conflict  be- 
tween the  more-crude  opinions  belonging  to  the 
science  of  an  earlier  age  and  the  less-crude  opin- 
ions belonging  to  the  science  of  a  later  age.  In 
the  course  of  this  contest  the  more-crude  opin- 
ions have  usually  been  defended  in  the  name  of 
religion,  and  the  less-crude  opinions  have  inva- 
riably won  the  victory  ;  but  religion  itself,  which 
is  not  concerned  with  opinion,  but  with  the  as- 

3 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

piration  which  leads  us  to  strive  after  a  purer  and 
holier  life,  has  seldom  or  never  been  attacked. 
On  the  contrary,  the  scientific  men  who  have 
conducted  the  battle  on  behalf  of  the  less-crude 
opinions  have  generally  been  influenced  by  this 
religious  aspiration  quite  as  strongly  as  the  apol- 
ogists of  the  more-crude  opinions,  and  so  far 
from  religious  feeling  having  been  weakened  by 
their  perennial  series  of  victories,  it  has  appar- 
ently been  growing  deeper  and  stronger  all  the 
time.  The  religious  sense  is  as  yet  too  feebly  de- 
veloped in  most  of  us  ;  but  certainly  in  no  pre- 
ceding age  have  men  taken  up  the  work  of  life 
with  more  earnestness  or  with  more  real  faith 
in  the  unseen  than  at  the  present  day,  when  so 
much  of  what  was  once  deemed  all-important 
knowledge  has  been  consigned  to  the  limbo  of 
mythology. 

The  more-crude  theories  of  early  times  are 
to  be  chiefly  distinguished  from  the  less-crude 
theories  of  to-day  as  being  largely  the  products 
of  random  guesswork.  Hypothesis,  or  guess- 
work, indeed,  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  scien- 
tific knowledge.  The  riddle  of  the  universe, 
like  less  important  riddles,  is  unravelled  only 
by  approximative  trials,  and  the  most  brilliant 
discoverers  have  usually  been  the  bravest  guess- 
ers.  Kepler's  laws  were  the  result  of  indefati- 
gable guessing,  and  so,  in  a  somewhat  different 
sense,  was  the  wave-theory  of  light.  But  the 

4 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

guesswork  of  scientific  inquirers  is  very  different 
now  from  what  it  was  in  older  times.  In  the 
first  place,  we  have  slowly  learned  that  a  guess 
must  be  verified  before  it  can  be  accepted  as  a 
sound  theory  ;  and,  secondly,  so  many  truths 
have  been  established  beyond  contravention, 
that  the  latitude  for  hypothesis  is  much  less  than 
it  once  was.  Nine  tenths  of  the  guesses  which 
might  have  occurred  to  a  mediaeval  philosopher 
would  now  be  ruled  out  as  inadmissible,  because 
they  would  not  harmonize  with  the  knowledge 
which  has  been  acquired  since  the  Middle  Ages. 
There  is  one  direction  especially  in  which  this 
continuous  limitation  of  guesswork  by  ever- 
accumulating  experience  has  manifested  itself. 
From  first  to  last,  all  our  speculative  successes 
and  failures  have  agreed  in  teaching  us  that  the 
most  general  principles  of  action  which  prevail 
to-day,  and  in  our  own  corner  of  the  universe, 
have  always  prevailed  throughout  as  much  of  the 
universe  as  is  accessible  to  our  research.  They 
have  taught  us  that  for  the  deciphering  of  the 
past  and  the  predicting  of  the  future,  no  hypoth- 
eses are  admissible  which  are  not  based  upon  the 
actual  behaviour  of  things  in  the  present.  Once 
there  was  unlimited  facility  for  guessing  as  to 
how  the  solar  system  might  have  come  into  ex- 
istence ;  now  the  origin  of  the  sun  and  planets 
is  adequately  explained  when  we  have  unfolded 
all  that  is  implied  in  the  processes  which  are  still 

5 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

going  on  in  the  solar  system.  Formerly  appeals 
were  made  to  all  manner  of  violent  agencies  to 
account  for  the  changes  which  the  earth's  surface 
has  undergone  since  our  planet  began  its  inde- 
pendent career  ;  now  it  is  seen  that  the  same 
slow  working  of  rain  and  tide,  of  wind  and  wave 
and  frost,  of  secular  contraction  and  of  earth- 
quake pulse,  which  is  visible  to-day,  will  account 
for  the  whole.  It  is  not  long  since  it  was  sup- 
posed that  a  species  of  animals  or  plants  could 
be  swept  away  only  by  some  unusual  catas- 
trophe, while  for  the  origination  of  new  species 
something  called  an  act  of  "  special  creation  " 
was  necessary  ;  and  as  to  the  nature  of  such 
extraordinary  events  there  was  endless  room 
for  guesswork  ;  but  the  discovery  of  natural 
selection  was  the  discovery  of  a  process,  going 
on  perpetually  under  our  very  eyes,  which  must 
inevitably  of  itself  extinguish  some  species  and 
bring  new  ones  into  being.  In  these  and  count- 
less other  ways  we  have  learned  that  all  the  rich 
variety  of  nature  is  pervaded  by  unity  of  action, 
such  as  we  might  expect  to  find  if  nature  is  the 
manifestation  of  an  infinite  God  who  is  without 
variableness  or  shadow  of  turning,  but  quite  in- 
compatible with  the  fitful  behaviour  of  the  an- 
thropomorphic deities  of  the  old  mythologies. 
By  thus  abstaining  from  all  appeal  to  agencies 
that  are  extra-cosmic,  or  not  involved  in  the 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

orderly  system  of  events  that  we  see  occurring 
around  us,  we  have  at  last  succeeded  in  eliminat- 
ing from  philosophic  speculation  the  character 
of  random  guesswork  which  at  first  of  necessity 
belonged  to  it.  Modern  scientific  hypothesis  is 
so  far  from  being  a  haphazard  mental  proceed- 
ing that  it  is  perhaps  hardly  fair  to  classify  it 
with  guesses.  It  is  lifted  out  of  the  plane  of 
guesswork,  in  so  far  as  it  has  acquired  the  char- 
acter of  inevitable  inference  from  that  which  now 
is  to  that  which  has  been  or  will  be.  Instead  of 
the  innumerable  particular  assumptions  which 
were  once  admitted  into  cosmic  philosophy,  we 
are  now  reduced  to  the  one  universal  assump- 
tion which  has  been  variously  described  as  the 
"  principle  of  continuity,"  the  "  uniformity  of 
nature,"  the  "  persistence  of  force,"  or  the  "  law 
of  causation,"  and  which  has  been  variously  ex- 
plained as  a  necessary  datum  for  scientific  think- 
ing or  as  a  net  result  of  all  induction.  I  am  not 
unwilling,  however,  to  adopt  the  language  of  a 
book  which  has  furnished  the  occasion  for  the 
present  discussion,  and  to  say  that  this  grand 
assumption  is  a  supreme  act  of  faith,  the  definite 
expression  of  a  trust  that  the  infinite  Sustainer 
of  the  universe  "  will  not  put  us  to  permanent 
intellectual  confusion."  For  in  this  mode  of 
statement  the  harmony  between  the  scientific 
and  the  religious  points  of  view  is  well  brought 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

out.  It  is  as  affording  the  only  outlet  from  per- 
manent intellectual  confusion  that  inquirers  have 
been  driven  to  appeal  to  the  principle  of  con- 
tinuity ;  and  it  is  by  unswerving  reliance  upon 
this  principle  that  we  have  obtained  such  insight 
into  the  past,  present,  and  future  of  the  world 
as  we  now  possess. 

The  work  just  mentioned  l  is  especially  in- 
teresting as  an  attempt  to  bring  the  probable 
destiny  of  the  human  soul  into  connection  with 
the  modern  theories  which  explain  the  past  and 
future  career  of  the  physical  universe  in  accord- 
ance with  the  principle  of  continuity.  Its  au- 
thorship is  as  yet  unknown,  but  it  is  believed 
to  be  the  joint  production  of  two  of  the  most 
eminent  physicists  in  Great  Britain,  and  cer- 
tainly the  accurate  knowledge  and  the  ingenu- 
ity and  subtlety  of  thought  displayed  in  it  are 
such  as  to  lend  great  probability  to  this  conjec- 
ture. Some  account  of  the  argument  it  con- 
tains may  well  precede  the  suggestions  pre- 
sently to  be  set  forth  concerning  the  Unseen 
World  ;  and  we  shall  find  it  most  convenient 
to  begin,  like  our  authors,  with  a  brief  state- 
ment of  what  the  principle  of  continuity  teaches 
as  to  the  proximate  beginning  and  end  of  the 
visible  universe.  I  shall  in  the  main  set  down 

1  The  Unseen  Universe;  or,  Physical  Speculations  on  a 
Future  State.  [Attributed  to  Professors  Tait  and  Balfour 
Stewart.]  New  York  :  Macmillan  &  Co.  1875. 

8 


THE    UNSEEN  WORLD 

only  results,  having  elsewhere  1  given  a  simple 
exposition  of  the  arguments  upon  which  these 
results  are  founded. 

The  first  great  cosmological  speculation 
which  has  been  raised  quite  above  the  plane  of 
guesswork  by  making  no  other  assumption 
than  that  of  the  uniformity  of  nature,  is  the 
well-known  Nebular  Hypothesis.  Every  as- 
tronomer knows  that  the  earth,  like  all  other 
cosmical  bodies  which  are  flattened  at  the  poles, 
was  formerly  a  mass  of  fluid,  and  consequently 
filled  a  much  larger  space  than  at  present.  It 
is  further  agreed,  on  all  hands,  that  the  sun  is 
a  contracting  body,  since  there  is  no  other  pos- 
sible way  of  accounting  for  the  enormous  quan- 
tity of  heat  which  he  generates.  The  so-called 
primeval  nebula  follows  as  a  necessary  infer- 
ence from  these  facts.  There  was  once  a  time 
when  the  earth  was  distended  on  all  sides  away 
out  to  the  moon  and  beyond  it,  so  that  the 
matter  now  contained  in  the  moon  was  then  a 
part  of  our  equatorial  zone.  And  at  a  still  re- 
moter date  in  the  past,  the  mass  of  the  sun  was 
diffused  in  every  direction  beyond  the  orbit  of 
Neptune,  and  no  planet  had  an  individual  exist- 
ence, for  all  were  indistinguishable  parts  of  the 
solar  mass.  When  the  great  mass  of  the  sun, 
increased  by  the  relatively  small  mass  of  all  the 

1   Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  based  on  the  Doctrine 
of  Evolution . 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

planets  put  together,  was  spread  out  in  this 
way,  it  was  a  rare  vapour  or  gas.  At  the  period 
where  the  question  is  taken  up  in  Laplace's 
treatment  of  the  nebular  theory,  the  shape  of 
this  mass  is  regarded  as  spheroidal ;  but  at  an 
earlier  period  its  shape  may  well  have  been  as 
irregular  as  that  of  any  of  the  nebulae  which  we 
now  see  in  distant  parts  of  the  heavens,  for, 
whatever  its  primitive  shape,  the  equalization  of 
its  rotation  would  in  time  make  it  spheroidal. 
That  the  quantity  of  rotation  was  the  same 
then  as  now  is  unquestionable  ;  for  no  system 
of  particles,  great  or  small,  can  acquire  or  lose 
rotation  by  any  action  going  on  within  itself, 
any  more  than  a  man  could  pick  himself  up  by 
his  waistband  and  lift  himself  over  a  stone  wall. 
So  that  the  primitive  rotating  spheroidal  solar 
nebula  is  not  a  matter  of  assumption,  but  is 
just  what  must  once  have  existed,  provided 
there  has  been  no  breach  of  continuity  in  na- 
ture's operations.  Now  proceeding  to  reason 
back  from  the  past  to  the  present,  it  has  been 
shown  that  the  abandonment  of  successive 
equatorial  belts  by  the  contracting  solar  mass 
must  have  ensued  in  accordance  with  known 
mechanical  laws  ;  and  in  similar  wise,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  each  belt  must  have 
parted  into  fragments,  and  the  fragments,  chas- 
ing each  other  around  the  same  orbit,  must 
have  at  last  coalesced  into  a  spheroidal  planet. 

10 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Not  only  this,  but  it  has  also  been  shown  that 
as  the  result  of  such  a  process  the  relative 
sizes  of  the  planets  would  be  likely  to  take  the 
order  which  they  now  follow ;  that  the  ring 
immediately  succeeding  that  of  Jupiter  would 
be  likely  to  abort  and  produce  a  great  number 
of  tiny  planets  instead  of  one  good-sized  one  ; 
that  the  outer  planets  would  be  likely  to  have 
many  moons,  and  that  Saturn,  besides  having 
the  greatest  number  of  moons,  would  be  likely 
to  retain  some  of  his  inner  rings  unbroken  ; 
that  the  earth  would  be  likely  to  have  a  long 
day  and  Jupiter  a  short  one ;  that  the  extreme 
outer  planets  would  be  not  unlikely  to  rotate 
in  a  retrograde  direction  ;  and  so  on,  through 
a  long  list  of  interesting  and  striking  details. 
Not  only,  therefore,  are  we  driven  to  the  in- 
ference that  our  solar  system  was  once  a  vapor- 
ous nebula,  but  we  find  that  the  mere  contrac- 
tion of  such  a  nebula,  under  the  influence  of 
the  enormous  mutual  gravitation  of  its  parti- 
cles, carries  with  it  the  explanation  of  both  the 
more  general  and  the  more  particular  features  of 
the  present  system.  So  that  we  may  fairly  re- 
gard this  stupendous  process  as  veritable  matter 
of  history,  while  we  proceed  to  study  it  under 
some  further  aspects  and  to  consider  what  con- 
sequences are  likely  to  follow. 

Our  attention  should  first  be  directed  to  the 
enormous  waste  of  energy  which  has  accom- 

ii 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

panied  this  contraction  of  the  solar  nebula. 
The  first  result  of  such  a  contraction  is  the 
generation  of  a  great  quantity  of  heat,  and 
when  the  heat  thus  generated  has  been  lost  by 
radiation  into  surrounding  space  it  becomes 
possible  for  the  contraction  to  continue.  Thus, 
as  concentration  goes  on,  heat  is  incessantly 
generated  and  incessantly  dissipated.  How 
long  this  process  is  to  endure  depends  chiefly 
on  the  size  of  the  contracting  mass,  as  small 
bodies  radiate  heat  much  faster  than  large  ones. 
The  moon  seems  to  be  already  thoroughly  re- 
frigerated, while  Jupiter  and  Saturn  are  very 
much  hotter  than  the  earth,  as  is  shown  by  the 
tremendous  atmospheric  phenomena  which  oc- 
cur on  their  surfaces.  The  sun,  again,  gener- 
ates heat  so  rapidly,  owing  to  his  great  energy 
of  contraction,  and  loses  it  so  slowly,  owing  to 
his  great  size,  that  his  surface  is  always  kept  in 
a  state  of  incandescence.  His  surface  tempera- 
ture is  estimated  at  some  three  million  degrees 
of  Fahrenheit,  and  a  diminution  of  his  diame- 
ter far  too  small  to  be  detected  by  the  finest 
existing  instruments  would  suffice  to  maintain 
the  present  supply  of  heat  for  more  than  fifty 
centuries.  These  facts  point  to  a  very  long 
future  during  which  the  sun  will  continue  to 
warm  the  earth  and  its  companion  planets,  but 
at  the  same  time  they  carry  on  their  face  the 
story  of  inevitable  ultimate  doom.  If  things 

12 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

continue  to  go  on  as  they  have  all  along  gone 
on,  the  sun  must  by  and  by  grow  black  and 
cold,  and  all  life  whatever  throughout  the  solar 
system  must  come  to  an  end.  Long  before  this 
consummation,  however,  life  will  probably  have 
become  extinct  through  the  refrigeration  of 
each  of  the  planets  into  a  state  like  the  present 
state  of  the  moon,  in  which  the  atmosphere 
and  oceans  have  disappeared  from  the  surface. 
No  doubt  the  sun  will  continue  to  give  out 
heat  a  long  time  after  heat  has  ceased  to  be 
needed  for  the  support  of  living  organisms. 
For  the  final  refrigeration  of  the  sun  will  long 
be  postponed  by  the  fate  of  the  planets  them- 
selves. The  separation  of  the  planets  from 
their  parent  solar  mass  seems  to  be  after  all 
but  a  temporary  separation.  So  nicely  balanced 
are  they  now  in  their  orbits  that  they  may  well 
seem  capable  of  rolling  on  in  their  present 
courses  forever.  But  this  is  not  the  case.  Two 
sets  of  circumstances  are  all  the  while  striving, 
the  one  to  drive  the  planets  farther  away  from 
the  sun,  the  other  to  draw  them  all  into  it.  On 
the  one  hand,  every  body  in  our  system  which 
contains  fluid  matter  has  tides  raised  upon  its 
surface  by  the  attraction  of  neighbouring  bodies. 
All  the  planets  raise  tides  upon  the  surface  of 
the  sun,  and  the  periodicity  of  sun-spots  (or 
solar  cyclones)  depends  upon  this  fact.  These 
tidal  waves  act  as  a  drag  or  brake  upon  the 

13 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

rotation  of  the  sun,  somewhat  diminishing  its 
rapidity.  But,  in  conformity  with  a  princi- 
ple of  mechanics  well  known  to  astronomers, 
though  not  familiar  to  the  general  reader,  all 
the  motion  of  rotation  thus  lost  by  the  sun  is 
added  to  the  planets  in  the  shape  of  annual 
motion  of  revolution,  and  thus  their  orbits  all 
tend  to  enlarge,  —  they  all  tend  to  recede 
somewhat  from  the  sun.  But  this  state  of 
things,  though  long-enduring  enough,  is  after 
all  only  temporary,  and  will  at  any  rate  come 
to  an  end  when  the  sun  and  planets  have  be- 
come solid.  Meanwhile  another  set  of  circum- 
stances is  all  the  time  tending  to  bring  the 
planets  nearer  to  the  sun,  and  in  the  long  run 
must  gain  the  mastery.  The  space  through 
which  the  planets  move  is  filled  with  a  kind  of 
matter  which  serves  as  a  medium  for  the  trans- 
mission of  heat  and  light,  and  this  kind  of 
matter,  though  different  in  some  respects  from 
ordinary  ponderable  matter,  is  yet  like  it  in 
exerting  friction.  This  friction  is  almost  in- 
finitely little,  yet  it  has  a  wellnigh  infinite 
length  of  time  to  work  in,  and  during  all  this 
wellnigh  infinite  length  of  time  it  is  slowly 
eating  up  the  momentum  of  the  planets  and 
diminishing  their  ability  to  maintain  their  dis- 
tances from  the  sun.  Hence  in  course  of  time 
the  planets  will  all  fall  into  the  sun,  one  after 
another,  so  that  the  solar  system  will  end,  as 

H 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

it  began,  by  consisting  of  a  single  mass  of 
matter. 

But  this  is  by  no  means  the  end  of  the  story. 
When  two  bodies  rush  together,  each  parts  with 
some  of  its  energy  of  motion,  and  this  lost  en- 
ergy of  motion  reappears  as  heat.  In  the  con- 
cussion of  two  cosmical  bodies,  like  the  sun  and 
the  earth,  an  enormous  quantity  of  motion  is 
thus  converted  into  heat.  Now  heat,  when  not 
allowed  to  radiate,  or  when  generated  faster  than 
it  can  be  radiated,  is  transformed  into  motion  of 
expansion.  Hence  the  shock  of  sun  and  planet 
would  at  once  result  in  the  vaporization  of  both 
bodies ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  by  the 
time  the  sun  has  absorbed  the  outermost  of  his 
attendant  planets,  he  will  have  resumed  some- 
thing like  his  original  nebulous  condition.  He 
will  have  been  dilated  into  a  huge  mass  of  va- 
pour, and  will  have  become  fit  for  a  new  process 
of  contraction  and  for  a  new  production  of  life- 
bearing  planets. 

We  are  now,  however,  confronted  by  an  in- 
teresting but  difficult  question.  Throughout  all 
this  grand  past  and  future  career  of  the  solar 
system  which  we  have  just  briefly  traced,  we  have 
been  witnessing  a  most  prodigal  dissipation  of 
energy  in  the  shape  of  radiant  heat.  At  the  out- 
set we  had  an  enormous  quantity  of  what  is 
called  "  energy  of  position,"  that  is,  the  outer 
parts  of  our  primitive  nebula  had  a  very  long 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

distance  through  which  to  travel  towards  one 
another  in  the  slow  process  of  concentration ; 
and  this  distance  was  the  measure  of  the  quan- 
tity of  work  possible  to  our  system.  As  the 
particles  of  our  nebula  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
together,  the  energy  of  position  continually  lost 
reappeared  continually  as  heat,  of  which  the 
greater  part  was  radiated  off,  but  of  which  a 
certain  amount  was  retained.  All  the  gigantic 
amount  of  work  achieved  in  the  geologic  devel- 
opment of  our  earth  and  its  companion  planets, 
and  in  the  development  of  life  wherever  life 
may  exist  in  our  system,  has  been  the  product 
of  this  retained  heat.  At  the  present  day  the 
same  wasteful  process  is  going  on.  Each  mo- 
ment the  sun's  particles  are  losing  energy  of  po- 
sition as  they  draw  closer  and  closer  together, 
and  the  heat  into  which  this  lost  energy  is  meta- 
morphosed is  poured  out  most  prodigally  in 
every  direction.  Let  us  consider  for  a  moment 
how  little  of  it  gets  used  in  our  system.  The 
earth's  orbit  is  a  nearly  circular  figure  more  than 
five  hundred  million  miles  in  circumference, 
while  only  eight  thousand  miles  of  this  path  are 
at  any  one  time  occupied  by  the  earth's  mass. 
Through  these  eight  thousand  miles  the  sun's 
radiated  energy  is  doing  work,  but  through  the 
remainder  of  the  five  hundred  million  it  is  idle 
and  wasted.  But  the  case  is  far  more  striking 
when  we  reflect  that  it  is  not  in  the  plane  of  the 

16 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

earth's  orbit  only  that  the  sun's  radiance  is  be- 
ing poured  out.  It  is  not  an  affair  of  a  circle, 
but  of  a  sphere.  In  order  to  utilize  all  the  so- 
lar rays,  we  should  need  to  have  an  immense 
number  of  earths  arranged  so  as  to  touch  each 
other,  forming  a  hollow  sphere  around  the  sun, 
with  the  present  radius  of  the  earth's  orbit.  We 
may  well  believe  Professor  Tyndall,  therefore, 
when  he  tells  us  that  all  the  solar  radiance  we 
receive  is  less  than  a  two-billionth  part  of  what 
is  sent  flying  through  the  desert  regions  of  space. 
Some  of  the  immense  residue  of  course  hits 
other  planets  stationed  in  the  way  of  it,  and  is 
utilized  upon  their  surfaces  ;  but  the  planets, 
all  put  together,  stop  so  little  of  the  total  quan- 
tity that  our  startling  illustration  is  not  materi- 
ally altered  by  taking  them  into  the  account. 
Now  this  two-billionth  part  of  the  solar  radiance 
poured  out  from  moment  to  moment  suffices  to 
blow  every  wind,  to  raise  every  cloud,  to  drive 
every  engine,  to  build  up  the  tissue  of  every 
plant,  to  sustain  the  activity  of  every  animal,  in- 
cluding man,  upon  the  surface  of  our  vast  and 
stately  globe.  Considering  the  wondrous  rich- 
ness and  variety  of  the  terrestrial  life  wrought 
out  by  the  few  sunbeams  which  we  catch  in  our 
career  through  space,  we  may  well  pause  over- 
whelmed and  stupefied  at  the  thought  of  the 
incalculable  possibilities  of  existence  which  are 
thrown  away  with  the  potent  actinism  that  darts 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

unceasingly  into  the  unfathomed  abysms  of  im- 
mensity. Where  it  goes  to  or  what  becomes  of 
it,  no  one  of  us  can  surmise. 

Now  when,  in  the  remote  future,  our  sun  is 
reduced  to  vapour  by  the  impact  of  the  several 
planets  upon  his  surface,  the  resulting  nebulous 
mass  must  be  a  very  insignificant  affair  com- 
pared with  the  nebulous  mass  with  which  we 
started.  In  order  to  make  a  second  nebula  equal 
in  size  and  potential  energy  to  the  first  one,  all 
the  energy  of  position  at  first  existing  should 
have  been  retained  in  some  form  or  other.  But 
nearly  all  of  it  has  been  lost,  and  only  an  insig- 
nificant fraction  remains  with  which  to  endow  a 
new  system.  In  order  to  reproduce,  in  future 
ages,  anything  like  that  cosmical  development 
which  is  now  going  on  in  the  solar  system,  aid 
must  be  sought  from  without.  We  must  en- 
deavour to  frame  some  valid  hypothesis  as  to 
the  relation  of  our  solar  system  to  other  sys- 
tems. 

Thus  far  our  view  has  been  confined  to  the 
career  of  a  single  star,  —  our  sun,  —  with  the 
tiny,  easily  cooling  balls  which  it  has  cast  off  in 
the  course  of  its  development.  Thus  far,  too, 
our  inferences  have  been  very  secure,  for  we 
have  been  dealing  with  a  circumscribed  group 
of  phenomena,  the  beginning  and  end  of  which 
have  been  brought  pretty  well  within  the, com- 
pass of  our  imagination.  It  is  quite  another 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

thing  to  deal  with  the  actual  or  probable  career 
of  the  stars  in  general,  inasmuch  as  we  do  not 
even  know  how  many  stars  there  are,  which 
form  parts  of  a  common  system,  or  what  are 
their  precise  dynamic  relations  to  one  another. 
Nevertheless  we  have  knowledge  of  a  few  facts 
which  may  support  some  cautious  inferences. 
All  the  stars  which  we  can  see  are  undoubtedly 
bound  together  by  relations  of  gravitation.  No 
doubt  our  sun  attracts  all  the  other  stars  within 
our  ken,  and  is  reciprocally  attracted  by  them. 
The  stars,  too,  lie  mostly  in  or  around  one  great 
plane,  as  is  the  case  with  the  members  of  the  so- 
lar system.  Moreover,  the  stars  are  shown  by 
the  spectroscope  to  consist  of  chemical  elements 
identical  with  those  which  are  found  in  the  solar 
system.  Such  facts  as  these  make  it  probable 
that  the  career  of  other  stars,  when  adequately 
inquired  into,  would  be  found  to  be  like  that  of 
our  own  sun.  Observation  daily  enhances  this 
probability,  for  our  study  of  the  sidereal  uni- 
verse is  continually  showing  us  stars  in  all  stages 
of  development.  We  find  irregular  nebulae,  for 
example  ;  we  find  spiral  and  spheroidal  nebulae ; 
we  find  stars  which  have  got  beyond  the  nebu- 
lous stage,  but  are  still  at  a  whiter  heat  than  our 
sun ;  and  we  also  find  many  stars  which  yield 
the  same  sort  of  spectrum  as  our  sun.  The  in- 
ference seems  forced  upon  us  that  the  same  pro- 
cess of  concentration  which  has  gone  on  in  the 

19 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

case  of  our  solar  nebula  has  been  going  on  in 
the  case  of  other  nebulae.  The  history  of  the  sun 
is  but  a  type  of  the  history  of  stars  in  general. 
And  when  we  consider  that  all  other  visible 
stars  and  nebulae  are  cooling  and  contracting 
bodies,  like  our  sun,  to  what  other  conclusion 
could  we  very  well  come  ?  When  we  look  at 
Sirius,  for  instance,  we  do  not  see  him  sur- 
rounded by  planets,  for  at  such  a  distance  no 
planet  could  be  visible,  even  Sirius  himself, 
though  fourteen  times  larger  than  our  sun,  ap- 
pearing only  as  a  "  twinkling  little  star."  But 
a  comparative  survey  of  the  heavens  assures  us 
that  Sirius  can  hardly  have  arrived  at  his  pre- 
sent stage  of  concentration  without  detaching 
planet-forming  rings,  for  there  is  no  reason  for 
supposing  that  mechanical  laws  out  there  are  at 
all  different  from  what  they  are  in  our  own  sys- 
tem. And  the  same  kind  of  inference  must 
apply  to  all  the  matured  stars  which  we  see  in 
the  heavens. 

When  we  duly  take  all  these  things  into  the 
account,  the  case  of  our  solar  system  will  appear 
as  only  one  of  a  thousand  cases  of  evolution 
and  dissolution  with  which  the  heavens  furnish 
us.  Other  stars,  like  our  sun,  have  undoubtedly 
started  as  vaporous  masses,  and  have  thrown 
off  planets  in  contracting.  The  inference  may 
seem  a  bold  one,  but  it  after  all  involves  no 
other  assumption  than  that  of  the  continuity  of 

20 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

natural  phenomena.  It  is  not  likely,  therefore, 
that  the  solar  system  will  forever  be  left  to  it- 
self. Stars  which  strongly  gravitate  towards 
each  other,  while  moving  through  a  perennially 
resisting  medium,  must  in  time  be  drawn  to- 
gether. The  collision  of  our  extinct  sun  with 
one  of  the  Pleiades,  after  this  manner,  would 
very  likely  suffice  to  generate  even  a  grander 
nebula  than  the  one  with  which  we  started. 
Possibly  the  entire  galactic  system  may,  in  an 
inconceivably  remote  future,  remodel  itself  in 
this  way ;  and  possibly  the  nebula  from  which 
our  own  group  of  planets  has  been  formed  may 
have  owed  its  origin  to  the  disintegration  of 
systems  which  had  accomplished  their  career  in 
the  depths  of  the  bygone  eternity. 

When  the  problem  is  extended  to  these  huge 
dimensions,  the  prospect  of  an  ultimate  cessa- 
tion of  cosmical  work  is  indefinitely  postponed, 
but  at  the  same  time  it  becomes  impossible  for 
us  to  deal  very  securely  with  the  questions  we 
have  raised.  The  magnitudes  and  periods  we 
have  introduced  are  so  nearly  infinite  as  to 
baffle  speculation  itself.  One  point,  however, 
we  seem  dimly  to  discern.  Supposing  the  stellar 
universe  not  to  be  absolutely  infinite  in  extent, 
we  may  hold  that  the  day  of  doom,  so  often 
postponed,  must  come  at  last.  The  concentra- 
tion of  matter  and  dissipation  of  energy,  so 
often  checked,  must  in  the  end  prevail,  so  that, 
21 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

as  the  final  outcome  of  things,  the  entire  uni- 
verse will  be  reduced  to  a  single  enormous  ball, 
dead  and  frozen,  solid  and  black,  its  potential 
energy  of  motion  having  been  all  transformed 
into  heat  and  radiated  away.  Such  a  conclusion 
has  been  suggested  by  Sir  William  Thomson, 
and  it  is  quite  forcibly  stated  by  the  authors  of 
"  The  Unseen  Universe."  They  remind  us 
that  "  if  there  be  any  one  form  of  energy  less 
readily  or  less  completely  transformable  than 
the  others,  and  if  transformations  constantly  go 
on,  more  and  more  of  the  whole  energy  of  the 
universe  will  inevitably  sink  into  this  lower 
grade  as  time  advances."  Now  radiant  heat,  as 
we  have  seen,  is  such  a  lower  grade  of  energy. 
"At  each  transformation  of  heat-energy  into 
work,  a  large  portion  is  degraded,  while  only 
a  small  portion  is  transformed  into  work.  So 
that  while  it  is  very  easy  to  change  all  of  our 
mechanical  or  useful  energy  into  heat,  it  is 
only  possible  to  transform  a  portion  of  this 
heat-energy  back  again  into  work.  After  each 
change,  too,  the  heat  becomes  more  and  more 
dissipated  or  degraded,  and  less  and  less  avail- 
able for  any  future  transformation.  In  other 
words,"  our  authors  continue,  "  the  tendency  of 
heat  is  towards  equalization  ;  heat  is  par  excel- 
lence the  communist  of  our  universe,  and  it  will 
no  doubt  ultimately  bring  the  system  to  an  end. 
.  .  .  It  is  absolutely  certain  that  life,  so  far  as 

22 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

it  is  physical,  depends  essentially  upon  transfor- 
mations of  energy  ;  it  is  also  absolutely  certain 
that  age  after  age  the  possibility  of  such  trans- 
formations is  becoming  less  and  less  ;  and,  so  far 
as  we  yet  know,  the  final  state  of  the  present 
universe  must  be  an  aggregation  (into  one 
mass)  of  all  the  matter  it  contains,  /.  e.  the 
potential  energy  gone,  and  a  practically  useless 
state  of  kinetic  energy,  /.  e.  uniform  temperature 
throughout  that  mass."  Thus  our  authors  con- 
clude that  the  visible  universe  began  in  time 
and  will  in  time  come  to  an  end ;  and  they  add 
that  under  the  physical  conditions  of  such  a 
universe  "  immortality  is  impossible." 

Concerning  the  latter  inference  we  shall  by 
and  by  have  something  to  say.  Meanwhile  this 
whole  speculation  as  to  the  final  cessation  of 
cosmical  work  seems  to  me  —  as  it  does  to  my 
friend,  Professor  Clifford1  —  by  no  means  trust- 
worthy. The  conditions  of  the  problem  so  far 
transcend  our  grasp  that  any  such  speculation 
must  remain  an  unverifiable  guess.  I  do  not 
go  with  Professor  Clifford  in  doubting  whether 
the  laws  of  mechanics  are  absolutely  the  same 
throughout  eternity;  I  cannot  quite  reconcile 
such  a  doubt  with  faith  in  the  principle  of  con- 
tinuity. But  it  does  seem  to  me  needful,  before 
we  conclude  that  radiated  energy  is  absolutely 
and  forever  wasted,  that  we  should  find  out 
1  Fortnightly  Review,  April,  1875. 
23 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

what  becomes  of  it.  What  we  call  radiant  heat 
is  simply  transverse  wave-motion,  propagated 
with  enormous  velocity  through  an  ocean  of 
subtle  ethereal  matter  which  bathes  the  atoms 
of  all  visible  or  palpable  bodies  and  fills  the 
whole  of  space,  extending  beyond  the  remotest 
star  which  the  telescope  can  reach.  Whether 
there  are  any  bounds  at  all  to  this  ethereal 
ocean,  or  whether  it  is  as  infinite  as  space  itself, 
we  cannot  surmise.  If  it  be  limited,  the  possi- 
ble dispersion  of  radiant  energy  is  limited  by  its 
extent.  Heat  and  light  cannot  travel  through 
emptiness.  If  the  ether  is  bounded  by  sur- 
rounding emptiness,  then  a  ray  of  heat,  on 
arriving  at  this  limiting  emptiness,  would  be 
reflected  back  as  surely  as  a  ball  is  sent  back 
when  thrown  against  a  solid  wall.  If  this  be 
the  case,  it  will  not  affect  our  conclusions  con- 
cerning such  a  tiny  region  of  space  as  is  occu- 
pied by  the  solar  system,  but  it  will  seriously 
modify  Sir  William  Thomson's  suggestion  as 
to  the  fate  of  the  universe  as  a  whole.  The 
radiance  thrown  away  by  the  sun  is  indeed  lost 
so  far  as  the  future  of  our  system  is  concerned, 
but  not  a  single  unit  of  it  is  lost  from  the  uni- 
verse. Sooner  or  later,  reflected  back  in  all 
directions,  it  must  do  work  in  one  quarter  or 
another,  so  that  ultimate  stagnation  becomes 
impossible.  It  is  true  that  no  such  return  of 
radiant  energy  has  been  detected  in  our  corner 

24 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  the  world  ;  but  we  have  not  yet  so  far  disen- 
tangled all  the  force-relations  of  the  universe 
that  we  are  entitled  to  regard  such  a  return  as 
impossible.  This  is  one  way  of  escape  from 
the  consummation  of  things  depicted  by  our 
authors.  Another  way  of  escape  is  equally 
available,  if  we  suppose  that  while  the  ether  is 
without  bounds  the  stellar  universe  also  extends 
to  infinity.  For  in  this  case  the  reproduction  of 
nebulous  masses  fit  for  generating  new  systems 
of  worlds  must  go  on  through  space  that  is 
endless,  and  consequently  the  process  can  never 
come  to  an  end  and  can  never  have  had  a  be- 
ginning. We  have,  therefore,  three  alterna- 
tives :  either  the  visible  universe  is  finite,  while 
the  ether  is  infinite ;  or  both  are  finite ;  or 
both  are  infinite.  Only  on  the  first  supposition, 
I  think,  do  we  get  a  universe  which  began  in 
time  and  must  end  in  time.  Between  such  stu- 
pendous alternatives  we  have  no  grounds  for 
choosing.  But  it  would  seem  that  the  third, 
whether  strictly  true  or  not,  best  represents  the 
state  of  the  case  relatively  to  our  feeble  capacity 
of  comprehension.  Whether  absolutely  infinite 
or  not,  the  dimensions  of  the  universe  must  be 
taken  as  practically  infinite,  so  far  as  human 
thought  is  concerned.  They  immeasurably 
transcend  the  capabilities  of  any  gauge  we  can 
bring  to  bear  on  them.  Accordingly  all  that  we 
are  really  entitled  to  hold,  as  the  outcome  of 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

sound  speculation,  is  the  conception  of  innu- 
merable systems  of  worlds  concentrating  out  of 
nebulous  masses,  and  then  rushing  together  and 
dissolving  into  similar  masses,  as  bubbles  unite 
and  break  up  —  now  here,  now  there  —  in  their 
play  on  the  surface  of  a  pool,  and  to  this  tre- 
mendous series  of  events  we  can  assign  neither 
a  beginning  nor  an  end. 

We  must  now  make  some  more  explicit  men- 
tion of  the  ether  which  carries  through  space  the 
rays  of  heat  and  light.  In  closest  connection 
with  the  visible  stellar  universe,  the  vicissitudes 
of  which  we  have  briefly  traced,  the  all-pervading 
ether  constitutes  a  sort  of  unseen  world  remark- 
able enough  from  any  point  of  view,  but  to  which 
the  theory  of  our  authors  ascribes  capacities  hith- 
erto unsuspected  by  science.  The  very  existence 
of  an  ocean  of  ether  enveloping  the  molecules 
of  material  bodies  has  been  doubted  or  denied 
by  many  eminent  physicists,  though  of  course 
none  have  called  in  question  the  necessity  for 
some  interstellar  medium  for  the  transmission 
of  thermal  and  luminous  vibrations.  This  scep- 
ticism has  been,  I  think,  partially  justified  by 
the  many  difficulties  encompassing  the  concep- 
tion, into  which,  however,  we  need  not  here  en- 
ter. That  light  and  heat  cannot  be  conveyed  by 
any  of  the  ordinary  sensible  forms  of  matter  is 
unquestionable.  None  of  the  forms  of  sensible 
matter  can  be  imagined  sufficiently  elastic  to 

26 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

propagate  wave-motion  at  the  rate  of  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty-eight  thousand  miles  per  sec- 
ond. Yet  a  ray  of  light  is  a  series  of  waves,  and 
implies  some  substance  in  which  the  waves  oc- 
cur. The  substance  required  is  one  which  seems 
to  possess  strangely  contradictory  properties. 
It  is  commonly  regarded  as  an  "  ether  "  or  infi- 
nitely rare  substance ;  but,  as  Professor  Jevons 
observed,  we  might  as  well  regard  it  as  an  infi- 
nitely solid  "  adamant."  "  Sir  John  Herschel 
has  calculated  the  amount  of  force  which  may 
be  supposed,  according  to  the  undulatory  theory 
of  light,  to  be  exerted  at  each  point  in  space, 
and  finds  it  to  be  1,148,000,000,000  times  the 
elastic  force  of  ordinary  air  at  the  earth's  surface, 
so  that  the  pressure  of  the  ether  upon  a  square 
inch  of  surface  must  be  about  17,000,000,000,- 
ooo,  or  seventeen  billions  of  pounds."  1  Yet 
at  the  same  time  the  resistance  offered  by  the 
ether  to  the  planetary  motions  is  too  minute  to 
be  appreciable.  "  All  our  ordinary  notions," 
says  Professor  Jevons,  "  must  be  laid  aside  in 
contemplating  such  an  hypothesis  ;  yet  [  it  is  ] 
no  more  than  the  observed  phenomena  of  light 
and  heat  force  us  to  accept.  We  cannot  deny 
even  the  strange  suggestion  of  Dr.  Young,  that 

1  Jevons's  Principles  of  Science,  vol.  ii.,  p.  145.  The 
figures,  which  in  the  English  system  of  numeration  read  as 
seventeen  billions,  would  in  the  American  system  read  as 
seventeen  trillions. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

there  may  be  independent  worlds,  some  pos- 
sibly existing  in  different  parts  of  space,  but 
others  perhaps  pervading  each  other,  unseen 
and  unknown,  in  the  same  space.  For  if  we 
are  bound  to  admit  the  conception  of  this  ada- 
mantine firmament,  it  is  equally  easy  to  admit 
a  plurality  of  such." 

The  ether,  therefore,  is  unlike  any  of  the 
forms  of  matter  which  we  can  weigh  and  mea- 
sure. In  some  respects  it  resembles  a  fluid,  in 
some  respects  a  solid.  It  is  both  hard  and  elas- 
tic to  an  almost  inconceivable  degree.  It  fills 
all  material  bodies  like  a  sea  in  which  the  atoms 
of  the  material  bodies  are  as  islands,  and  it  oc- 
cupies the  whole  of  what  we  call  empty  space. 
It  is  so  sensitive  that  a  disturbance  in  any  part 
of  it  causes  a  "  tremour  which  is  felt  on  the  sur- 
face of  countless  worlds.  Our  old  experiences  of 
matter  give  us  no  account  of  any  substance  like 
this ;  yet  the  undulatory  theory  of  light  obliges 
us  to  admit  such  a  substance,  and  that  theory  is 
as  well  established  as  the  theory  of  gravitation. 
Obviously  we  have  here  an  enlargement  of  our 
experience  of  matter.  The  analysis  of  the  phe- 
nomena of  light  and  radiant  heat  has  brought 
us  into  mental  relations  with  matter  in  a  differ- 
ent state  from  any  in  which  we  previously  knew 
it.  For  the  supposition  that  the  ether  may  be 
something  essentially  different  from  matter  is 
contradicted  by  all  the  terms  we  have  used  in 

28 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

describing  it.  Strange  and  contradictory  as  its 
properties  may  seem,  are  they  any  more  strange 
than  the  properties  of  a  gas  would  seem  if  we 
were  for  the  first  time  to  discover  a  gas  after 
heretofore  knowing  nothing  but  solids  and  liq- 
uids ?  I  think  not ;  and  the  conclusion  implied 
by  our  authors  seems  to  me  eminently  probable, 
that  in  the  so-called  ether  we  have  simply  a  state 
of  matter  more  primitive  than  what  we  know 
as  the  gaseous  state.  Indeed,  the  conceptions  of 
matter  now  current,  and  inherited  from  barbar- 
ous ages,  are  likely  enough  to  be  crude  in  the 
extreme.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  study  of  such 
subtle  agencies  as  heat  and  light  should  oblige 
us  to  modify  them ;  and  it  will  not  be  strange 
if  the  study  of  electricity  should  entail  still  fur- 
ther revision  of  our  ideas. 

We  are  now  brought  to  one  of  the  profound- 
est  speculations  of  modern  times,  the  vortex- 
atom  theory  of  Helmholtz  and  Thomson,  in 
which  the  evolution  of  ordinary  matter  from 
ether  is  plainly  indicated.  The  reader  first  needs 
to  know  what  vortex-motion  is;  and  this  has 
been  so  beautifully  explained  by  Professor  Clif- 
ford, that  I  quote  his  description  entire  :  "Im- 
agine a  ring  of  india-rubber,  made  by  joining 
together  the  ends  of  a  cylindrical  piece  (like  a 
lead-pencil  before  it  is  cut),  to  be  put  upon  a 
round  stick  which  it  will  just  fit  with  a  little 
stretching.  Let  the  stick  be  now  pulled  through 
29 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  ring  while  the  latter  is  kept  in  its  place  by 
being  pulled  the  other  way  on  the  outside.  The 
india-rubber  has  then  what  is  called  vortex-mo- 
tion. Before  the  ends  were  joined  together,  while 
it  was  straight,  it  might  have  been  made  to  turn 
around  without  changing  position,  by  rolling  it 
between  the  hands.  Just  the  same  motion  of 
rotation  it  has  on  the  stick,  only  that  the  ends 
are  now  joined  together.  All  the  inside  surface 
of  the  ring  is  going  one  way,  namely,  the  way 
the  stick  is  pulled ;  and  all  the  outside  is  going 
the  other  way.  Such  a  vortex-ring  is  made  by 
the  smoker  who  purses  his  lips  into  a  round  hole 
and  sends  out  a  puff  of  smoke.  The  outside  of 
the  ring  is  kept  back  by  the  friction  of  his  lips 
while  the  inside  is  going  forwards  ;  thus  a  rota- 
tion is  set  up  all  round  the  smoke-ring  as  it 
travels  out  into  the  air."  In  these  cases,  and  in 
others  as  we  commonly  find  it,  vortex-motion 
owes  its  origin  to  friction  and  is  after  a  while 
brought  to  an  end  by  friction.  But  in  1858  the 
equations  of  motion  of  an  incompressible  fric- 
tionless  fluid  were  first  successfully  solved  by 
Helmholtz,  and  among  other  things  he  proved 
that,  though  vortex-motion  could  not  be  origi- 
nated in  such  a  fluid,  yet  supposing  it  once  to 
exist,  it  would  exist  to  all  eternity  and  could  not 
be  diminished  by  any  mechanical  action  what- 
ever. A  vortex-ring,  for  example,  in  such  a 
fluid,  would  forever  preserve  its  own  rotation, 

30 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  would  thus  forever  retain  its  peculiar  indi- 
viduality, being,  as  it  were,  marked  off  from  its 
neighbour  vortex-rings.  Upon  this  mechanical 
truth  Sir  William  Thomson  based  his  wonder- 
fully suggestive  theory  of  the  constitution  of 
matter.  That  which  is  permanent  or  indestructi- 
ble in  matter  is  the  ultimate  homogeneous  atom  ; 
and  this  is  probably  all  that  is  permanent,  since 
chemists  now  almost  unanimously  hold  that  so- 
called  elementary  molecules  are  not  really  sim- 
ple, but  owe  their  sensible  differences  to  the 
various  groupings  of  an  ultimate  atom  which  is 
alike  for  all.  Relatively  to  our  powers  of  com- 
prehension the  atom  endures  eternally  ;  that  is, 
it  retains  forever  unalterable  its  definite  mass 
and  its  definite  rate  of  vibration.  Now  this  is 
just  what  a  vortex-ring  would  do  in  an  incom- 
pressible frictionless  fluid.  Thus  the  startling 
question  is  suggested,  Why  may  not  the  ultimate 
atoms  of  matter  be  vortex-rings  forever  existing 
in  such  a  frictionless  fluid  filling  the  whole  of 
space  ?  Such  a  hypothesis  is  not  less  brilliant 
than  Huyghens's  conjectural  identification  of 
light  with  undulatory  motion ;  and  it  is  more- 
over a  legitimate  hypothesis,  since  it  can  be 
brought  to  the  test  of  verification.  Sir  William 
Thomson  has  shown  that  it  explains  a  great 
many  of  the  physical  properties  of  matter :  it 
remains  to  be  seen  whether  it  can  explain  them 
all. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Of  course  the  ether  which  conveys  thermal 
and  luminous  undulations  is  not  the  friction- 
less  fluid  postulated  by  Sir  William  Thom- 
son. The  most  conspicuous  property  of  the 
ether  is  its  enormous  elasticity,  a  property 
which  we  should  not  find  in  a  frictionless  fluid. 
"  To  account  for  such  elasticity,"  says  Profes- 
sor Clifford  (whose  exposition  of  the  subject  is 
still  more  lucid  than  that  of  our  authors),  "  it 
has  to  be  supposed  that  even  where  there  are 
no  material  molecules  the  universal  fluid  is  full 
of  vortex-motion,  but  that  the  vortices  are 
smaller  and  more  closely  packed  than  those  of 
[ordinary]  matter,  forming  altogether  a  more 
finely  grained  structure.  So  that  the  difference 
between  matter  and  ether  is  reduced  to  a  mere 
difference  in  the  size  and  arrangement  of  the 
component  vortex-rings.  Now,  whatever  may 
turn  out  to  be  the  ultimate  nature  of  the  ether 
and  of  molecules,  we  know  that  to  some  extent 
at  least  they  obey  the  same  dynamic  laws,  and 
that  they  act  upon  one  another  in  accordance 
with  these  laws.  Until,  therefore,  it  is  abso- 
lutely disproved,  it  must  remain  the  simplest 
and  most  probable  assumption  that  they  are 
finally  made  of  the  same  stuff,  that  the  material 
molecule  is  some  kind  of  knot  or  coagulation 
of  ether."1 

Another  interesting  consequence  of  Sir  Wil- 
1  Fortnightly  Review,  June,  1875,  p.  784. 
32 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Ham  Thomson's  pregnant  hypothesis  is  that 
the  absolute  hardness  which  has  been  attributed 
to  material  atoms  from  the  time  of  Lucretius 
downward  may  be  dispensed  with.  Somewhat 
in  the  same  way  that  a  loosely  suspended  chain 
becomes  rigid  with  rapid  rotation,  the  hardness 
and  elasticity  of  the  vortex-atom  are  explained 
as  due  to  the  swift  rotary  motion  of  a  soft  and 
yielding  fluid.  So  that  the  vortex-atom  is  really 
indivisible,  not  by  reason  of  its  hardness  or 
solidity,  but  by  reason  of  the  indestructibleness 
of  its  motion. 

Supposing,  now,  that  we  adopt  provisionally 
the  vortex  theory,  —  the  great  power  of  which 
is  well  shown  by  the  consideration  just  men- 
tioned, —  we  must  not  forget  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely essential  to  the  indestructibleness  of  the 
material  atom  that  the  universal  fluid  in  which 
it  has  an  existence  as  a  vortex-ring  should  be 
entirely  destitute  of  friction.  Once  admit  even 
the  most  infinitesimal  amount  of  friction,  while 
retaining  the  conception  of  vortex-motion  in  a 
universal  fluid,  and  the  whole  case  is  so  far 
altered  that  the  material  atom  can  no  longer  be 
regarded  as  absolutely  indestructible,  but  only 
as  indefinitely  enduring.  It  may  have  been 
generated,  in  bygone  eternity,  by  a  natural  pro- 
cess of  evolution,  and  in  future  eternity  may 
come  to  an  end.  Relatively  to  our  powers  of 
comprehension  the  practical  difference  is  per- 

33 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

haps  not  great.  Scientifically  speaking,  Helm- 
holtz  and  Thomson  are  as  well  entitled  to 
reason  upon  the  assumption  of  a  perfectly  fric- 
tionless  fluid  as  geometers  in  general  are  en- 
titled to  assume  perfect  lines  without  breadth 
and  perfect  surfaces  without  thickness.  Perfect 
lines  and  surfaces  do  not  exist  within  the  re- 
gion of  our  experience ;  yet  the  conclusions 
of  geometry  are  none  the  less  true  ideally, 
though  in  any  particular  concrete  instance  they 
are  only  approximately  realized.  Just  so  with 
the  conception  of  a  frictionless  fluid.  So  far  as 
experience  goes,  such  a  thing  has  no  more  real 
existence  than  a  line  without  breadth  ;  and 
hence  an  atomic  theory  based  upon  such  an 
assumption  may  be  as  true  ideally  as  any  of 
the  theorems  of  Euclid,  but  it  can  give  only 
an  approximatively  true  account  of  the  actual 
universe.  These  considerations  do  not  at  all 
affect  the  scientific  value  of  the  theory ;  but 
they  will  modify  the  tenor  of  such  transcen- 
dental inferences  as  may  be  drawn  from  it  re- 
garding the  probable  origin  and  destiny  of  the 
universe. 

The  conclusions  reached  in  the  first  part  of 
this  paper,  while  we  were  dealing  only  with 
gross  visible  matter,  may  have  seemed  bold 
enough ;  but  they  are  far  surpassed  by  the  in- 
ference which  our  authors  draw  from  the  vor- 
tex theory  as  they  interpret  it.  Our  authors 

34 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

exhibit  various  reasons,  more  or  less  sound, 
for  attributing  to  the  primordial  fluid  some 
slight  amount  of  friction  ;  and  in  support  of 
this  view  they  adduce  Le  Sage's  explanation  of 
gravitation  as  a  differential  result  of  pressure, 
and  Struve's  theory  of  the  partial  absorption 
of  light-rays  by  the  ether,  —  questions  with 
which  our  present  purpose  does  not  require  us 
to  meddle.  Apart  from  such  questions  it  is 
every  way  probable  that  the  primary  assump- 
tion of  Helmholtz  and  Thomson  is  only  an 
approximation  to  the  truth.  But  if  we  accredit 
the  primordial  fluid  with  even  an  infinitesimal 
amount  of  friction,  then  we  are  required  to 
conceive  of  the  visible  universe  as  developed 
from  the  invisible  and  as  destined  to  return 
into  the  invisible.  The  vortex-atom,  produced 
by  infinitesimal  friction  operating  through  well- 
nigh  infinite  time,  is  to  be  ultimately  abolished 
by  the  agency  which  produced  it.  In  the 
words  of  our  authors,  "If  the  visible  universe 
be  developed  from  an  invisible  which  is  not  a 
perfect  fluid,  then  the  argument  deduced  by 
Sir  William  Thomson  in  favour  of  the  eternity 
of  ordinary  matter  disappears,  since  this  eter- 
nity depends  upon  the  perfect  fluidity  of  the 
invisible.  In  fine,  if  we  suppose  the  material 
universe  to  be  composed  of  a  series  of  vortex- 
rings  developed  from  an  invisible  universe 
which  is  not  a  perfect  fluid,  it  will  be  ephe- 

35 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

meral,just  as  the  smoke-ring  which  we  develop 
from  air,  or  that  which  we  develop  from  water, 
is  ephemeral,  the  only  difference  being  in  dura- 
tion, these  lasting  only  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
the  others  it  may  be  for  billions  of  years." 
Thus,  as  our  authors  suppose  that  "  the  avail- 
able energy  of  the  visible  universe  will  ulti- 
mately be  appropriated  by  the  invisible,"  they 
go  on  to  imagine,  "  at  least  as  a  possibility,  that 
the  separate  existence  of  the  visible  universe 
will  share  the  same  fate,  so  that  we  shall  have 
no  huge,  useless,  inert  mass  existing  in  after 
ages  to  remind  the  passer-by  of  a  form  of 
energy  and  a  species  of  matter  that  is  long 
since  out  of  date  and  functionally  effete.  Why 
should  not  the  universe  bury  its  dead  out  of 
sight  ? " 

In  one  respect  perhaps  no  more  stupendous 
subject  of  contemplation  than  this  has  ever  been 
offered  to  the  mind  of  man.  In  comparison 
with  the  length  of  time  thus  required  to  efface 
the  tiny  individual  atom,  the  entire  cosmical 
career  of  our  solar  system,  or  even  that  of  the 
whole  starry  galaxy,  shrinks  into  utter  nothing- 
ness. Whether  we  shall  adopt  the  conclusion 
suggested  must  depend  on  the  extent  of  our 
speculative  audacity.  We  have  seen  wherein 
its  probability  consists,  but  in  reasoning  upon 
such  a  scale  we  may  fitly  be  cautious  and  mod- 
est in  accepting  inferences,  and  our  authors, 

36 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

we  may  be  sure,  would  be  the  first  to  recom- 
mend such  modesty  and  caution.  Even  at  the 
dimensions  to  which  our  theorizing  has  here 
grown,  we  may  for  instance  discern  the  possible 
alternative  of  a  simultaneous  or  rhythmically 
successive  generation  and  destruction  of  vortex- 
atoms  which  would  go  far  to  modify  the  con- 
clusion just  suggested.  But  here  we  must  pause 
for  a  moment,  reserving  for  a  second  paper  the 
weightier  thoughts  as  to  futurity  which  our  au- 
thors have  sought  to  enwrap  in  these  sublime 
physical  speculations. 


PART  II 

UP  to  this  point,  however  remote  from  or- 
dinary every-day  thoughts  may  be  the  region 
of  speculation  which  we  have  been  called  upon 
to  traverse,  we  have  still  kept  within  the  limits 
of  legitimate  scientific  hypothesis.  Though  we 
have  ventured  for  a  goodly  distance  into  the 
unknown,  we  have  not  yet  been  required  to 
abandon  our  base  of  operations  in  the  known. 
Of  the  views  presented  in  the  preceding  paper, 
some  are  wellnigh  certainly  established,  some 
are  probable,  some  have  a  sort  of  plausibility, 
others  —  to  which  we  have  refrained  from  giv- 
ing assent  —  may  possibly  be  true  ;  but  none 
are  irretrievably  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  sci- 
37 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

entific  tests.  No  suggestion  has  so  far  been 
broached  which  a  very  little  further  increase  of 
our  scientific  knowledge  may  not  show  to  be 
either  eminently  probable  or  eminently  improb- 
able. We  have  kept  pretty  clear  of  mere  sub- 
jective guesses,  such  as  men  may  wrangle  about 
forever  without  coming  to  any  conclusion.  The 
theory  of  the  nebular  origin  of  our  planetary 
system  has  come  to  command  the  assent  of  all 
persons  qualified  to  appreciate  the  evidence  on 
which  it  is  based;  and  the  more  immediate 
conclusions  which  we  have  drawn  from  that 
theory  are  only  such  as  are  commonly  drawn 
by  astronomers  and  physicists.  The  doctrine 
of  an  intermolecular  and  interstellar  ether  is 
wrapped  up  in  the  well-established  undulatory 
theory  of  light.  Such  is  by  no  means  the  case 
with  Sir  William  Thomson's  vortex-atom  the- 
ory, which  to-day  is  in  somewhat  the  same  con- 
dition as  the  undulatory  theory  of  Huyghens 
two  centuries  ago.  This,  however,  is  none  the 
less  a  hypothesis  truly  scientific  in  conception, 
and  in  the  speculations  to  which  it  leads  us  we 
are  still  sure  of  dealing  with  views  that  admit  at 
least  of  definite  expression  and  treatment.  In 
other  words,  though  our  study  of  the  visible 
universe  has  led  us  to  the  recognition  of  a  kind 
of  unseen  world  underlying  the  world  of  things 
that  are  seen,  yet  concerning  the  economy  of 
this  unseen  world  we  have  not  been  led  to  en- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

tertain  any  hypothesis  that  has  not  its  possible 
justification  in  our  experiences  of  visible  phe- 
nomena. 

We  are  now  called  upon,  following  in  the  wake 
of  our  esteemed  authors,  to  venture  on  a  differ- 
ent sort  of  exploration,  in  which  we  must  cut 
loose  altogether  from  our  moorings  in  the  world 
of  which  we  have  definite  experience.  We  are 
invited  to  entertain  suggestions  concerning  the 
peculiar  economy  of  the  invisible  portion  of  the 
universe  which  we  have  no  means  of  subjecting 
to  any  sort  of  test  of  probability,  either  experi- 
mental or  deductive.  These  suggestions  are, 
therefore,  not  to  be  regarded  as  properly  scien- 
tific ;  but,  with  this  word  of  caution,  we  may 
proceed  to  show  what  they  are. 

Compared  with  the  life  and  death  of  cosmical 
systems  which  we  have  heretofore  contemplated, 
the  life  and  death  of  individuals  of  the  human 
race  may  perhaps  seem  a  small  matter  ;  yet  be- 
cause we  are  ourselves  the  men  who  live  and 
die,  the  small  event  is  of  vastly  greater  interest 
to  us  than  the  grand  series  of  events  of  which  it 
is  part  and  parcel.  It  is  natural  that  we  should 
be  more  interested  in  the  ultimate  fate  of  hu- 
manity than  in  the  fate  of  a  world  which  is  of 
no  account  to  us  save  as  our  present  dwelling- 
place.  Whether  the  human  soul  is  to  come  to 
an  end  or  not  is  to  us  a  more  important  ques- 
tion than  whether  the  visible  universe,  with  its 

39 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

matter  and  energy,  is  to  be  absorbed  in  an  in- 
visible ether.  It  is  indeed  only  because  we  are 
interested  in  the  former  question  that  we  are  so 
curious  about  the  latter.  If  we  could  dissociate 
ourselves  from  the  material  universe,  our  habitat, 
we  should  probably  speculate  much  less  about 
its  past  and  future.  We  care  very  little  what 
becomes  of  the  black  ball  of  the  earth,  after  all 
life  has  vanished  from  its  surface ;  or,  if  we  care  at 
all  about  it,  it  is  only  because  our  thoughts  about 
the  career  of  the  earth  are  necessarily  mixed  up 
with  our  thoughts  about  life.  Hence  in  consid- 
ering the  probable  ultimate  destiny  of  the  phy- 
sical universe,  our  innermost  purpose  must  be 
to  know  what  is  to  become  of  all  this  rich  and 
wonderful  life  of  which  the  physical  universe  is 
the  theatre.  Has  it  all  been  developed,  appar- 
ently at  almost  infinite  waste  of  effort,  only  to 
be  abolished  again  before  it  has  attained  to  com- 
pleteness, or  does  it  contain  or  shelter  some  in- 
destructible element  which  having  drawn  sus- 
tenance for  a  while  from  the  senseless  turmoil 
of  physical  phenomena  shall  still  survive  their 
final  decay  ?  This  question  is  closely  connected 
with  the  time-honoured  question  of  the  mean- 
ing, purpose,  or  tendency  of  the  world.  In  the 
career  of  the  world  is  life  an  end,  or  a  means 
toward  an  end,  or  only  an  incidental  pheno- 
menon in  which  we  can  discover  no  meaning  ? 
Contemporary  theologians  seem  generally  to  be- 
40 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

lieve  that  one  necessary  result  of  modern  scienti- 
fic inquiry  must  be  the  destruction  of  the  belief 
in  immortal  life,  since  against  every  thorough- 
going expounder  of  scientific  knowledge  they 
seek  to  hurl  the  charge  of"  materialism."  Their 
doubts,  however,  are  not  shared  by  our  authors, 
thorough  men  of  science  as  they  are,  though 
their  mode  of  dealing  with  the  question  may 
not  be  such  as  we  can  well  adopt.  While  up- 
holding the  doctrine  of  evolution,  and  all  the 
so-called  "  materialistic  "  views  of  modern  sci- 
ence, they  not  only  regard  the  hypothesis  of  a 
future  life  as  admissible,  but  they  even  go  so 
far  as  to  propound  a  physical  theory  as  to  the 
nature  of  existence  after  death.  Let  us  see 
what  this  physical  theory  is. 

As  far  as  the  visible  universe  is  concerned, 
we  do  not  find  in  it  any  evidence  of  immortality 
or  of  permanence  of  any  sort,  unless  it  be  in 
the  sum  of  potential  and  kinetic  energies  on  the 
persistency  of  which  depends  our  principle  of 
continuity.  In  ordinary  language  "  the  stars  in 
their  courses"  serve  as  symbols  of  permanence, 
yet  we  have  found  reason  to  regard  them  as 
but  temporary  phenomena.  So,  in  the  language 
of  our  authors,  "  if  we  take  the  individual  man, 
we  find  that  he  lives  his  short  tale  of  years,  and 
that  then  the  visible  machinery  which  connects 
him  with  the  past,  as  well  as  that  which  enables 
him  to  act  in  the  present,  falls  into  ruin  and  is 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

brought  to  an  end.  If  any  germ  or  potentiality 
remains,  it  is  certainly  not  connected  with  the 
visible  order  of  things."  In  like  manner  our 
race  is  pretty  sure  to  come  to  an  end  long  before 
the  destruction  of  the  planet  from  which  it  now 
gets  its  sustenance.  And  in  our  authors'  opin- 
ion even  the  universe  will  by  and  by  become 
"old  and  effete,  no  less  truly  than  the  individ- 
ual :  it  is  a  glorious  garment,  this  visible  uni- 
verse, but  not  an  immortal  one ;  we  must  look 
elsewhere  if  we  are  to  be  clothed  with  immor- 
tality as  with  a  garment." 

It  is  at  this  point  that  our  authors  call  atten- 
tion to  "  the  apparently  wasteful  character  of 
the  arrangements  of  the  visible  universe."  The 
fact  is  one  which  we  have  already  sufficiently 
described,  but  we  shall  do  well  to  quote  the 
words  in  which  our  authors  recur  to  it :  "  All 
but  a  very  small  portion  of  the  sun's  heat  goes 
day  by  day  into  what  we  call  empty  space,  and 
it  is  only  this  very  small  remainder  that  is  made 
use  of  by  the  various  planets  for  purposes  of 
their  own.  Can  anything  be  more  perplexing 
than  this  seemingly  frightful  expenditure  of 
the  very  life  and  essence  of  the  system  ?  That 
this  vast  store  of  high-class  energy  should  be 
doing  nothing  but  travelling  outwards  in  space 
at  the  rate  of  1 88,000  miles  per  second  is  hardly 
conceivable,  especially  when  the  result  of  it  is 


42 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  inevitable   destruction  of  the  visible  uni- 
verse." 

Pursuing  this  teleological  argument,  it  is  sug- 
gested that  perhaps  this  apparent  waste  of  energy- 
is  "  only  an  arrangement  in  virtue  of  which  our 
universe  keeps  up  a  memory  of  the  past  at  the 
expense  of  the  present,  inasmuch  as  all  memory 
consists  in  an  investiture  of  present  resources  in 
order  to  keep  a  hold  upon  the  past."  Recourse 
is  had  to  the  ingenious  argument  in  which  Mr. 
Babbage  showed  that  "  if  we  had  power  to  fol- 
low and  detect  the  minutest  effects  of  any  dis- 
turbance, each  particle  of  existing  matter  must 
be  a  register  of  all  that  has  happened.  The 
track  of  every  canoe,  of  every  vessel  that  has  yet 
disturbed  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  whether  im- 
pelled by  manual  force  or  elemental  power,  re- 
mains forever  registered  in  the  future  movement 
of  all  succeeding  particles  which  may  occupy 
its  place.  The  furrow  which  is  left  is,  indeed, 
instantly  filled  up  by  the  closing  waters ;  but 
they  draw  after  them  other  and  larger  portions 
of  the  surrounding  element,  and  these  again, 
once  moved,  communicate  motion  to  others  in 
endless  succession."  In  like  manner,  "  the  air 
itself  is  one  vast  library,  on  whose  pages  are 
forever  written  all  that  man  has  ever  said  or 
even  whispered.  There  in  their  mutable  but 
unerring  characters,  mixed  with  the  earliest 
as  well  as  the  latest  sighs  of  mortality,  stand 

43 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

forever  recorded  vows  unredeemed,  promises 
unfulfilled,  perpetuating  in  the  united  move- 
ments of  each  particle  the  testimony  of  man's 
changeful  will."  In  some  such  way  as  this, 
records  of  every  movement  that  takes  place  in 
the  world  are  each  moment  transmitted,  with 
the  speed  of  light,  through  the  invisible  ocean 
of  ether  with  which  the  world  is  surrounded. 
Even  the  molecular  displacements  which  oc- 
cur in  our  brains  when  we  feel  and  think  are 
thus  propagated  in  their  effects  into  the  unseen 
world.  The  world  of  ether  is  thus  regarded  by 
our  authors  as  in  some  sort  the  obverse  or 
complement  of  the  world  of  sensible  matter,  so 
that  whatever  energy  is  dissipated  in  the  one  is 
by  the  same  act  accumulated  in  the  other.  It 
is  like  the  negative  plate  in  photography,  where 
light  answers  to  shadow  and  shadow  to  light. 
Or,  still  better,  it  is  like  the  case  of  an  equation, 
in  which  whatever  quantity  you  take  from  one 
side  is  added  to  the  other  with  a  contrary  sign, 
while  the  relation  of  equality  remains  undis- 
turbed. Thus,  it  will  be  noticed,  from  the 
ingenious  and  subtle,  but  quite  defensible  sug- 
gestion of  Mr.  Babbage,  a  leap  is  made  to  an 
assumption  which  cannot  be  defended  scientific- 
ally, but  only  ideologically.  It  is  one  thing  to 
say  that  every  movement  in  the  visible  world 

1  Babbage,  Ninth  Bridgewater  Treatise,  p.  115;  Jevons, 
Principles  of  Science,  vol.  ii.,  p.  455. 

44 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

transmits  a  record  of  itself  to  the  surrounding 
ether,  in  such  a  way  that  from  the  undulation 
of  the  ether  a  sufficiently  powerful  intelligence 
might  infer  the  character  of  the  generating 
movement  in  the  visible  world.  It  is  quite 
another  thing  to  say  that  the  ether  is  organized 
in  such  a  complex  and  delicate  way  as  to  be 
like  a  negative  image  or  counterpart  of  the 
world  of  sensible  matter.  The  latter  view  is 
no  doubt  ingenious,  but  it  is  gratuitous.  It  is 
sustained  not  by  scientific  analogy,  but  by  the 
desire  to  find  some  assignable  use  for  the  energy 
which  is  constantly  escaping  from  visible  matter 
into  invisible  ether.  The  moment  we  ask  how 
do  we  know  that  this  energy  is  not  really  wasted, 
or  that  it  is  not  put  to  some  use  wholly  undis- 
coverable  by  human  intelligence,  this  assump- 
tion of  an  organized  ether  is  at  once  seen  to 
be  groundless.  It  belongs  not  to  the  region  of 
science,  but  to  that  of  pure  mythology. 

In  justice  to  our  authors,  however,  it  should 
be  remembered  that  this  assumption  is  put  forth 
not  as  something  scientifically  probable,  but  as 
something  which  for  aught  we  know  to  the 
contrary  may  possibly  be  true.  This,  to  be 
sure,  we  need  not  deny ;  nor  if  we  once  allow 
this  prodigious  leap  of  inference,  shall  we  find 
much  difficulty  in  reaching  the  famous  conclu- 
sion that  "  thought  conceived  to  affect  the  matter 
of  another  universe  simultaneously  with  this  may 

45 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

explain  a  future  state"  This  proposition, 
quaintly  couched  in  an  anagram,  like  the  dis- 
coveries of  old  astronomers,  was  published  last 
year  in  "  Nature,"  as  containing  the  gist  of  the 
forthcoming  book.  On  the  negative-image 
hypothesis  it  is  not  hard  to  see  how  thought 
is  conceived  to  affect  the  seen  and  the  unseen 
worlds  simultaneously.  Every  act  of  conscious- 
ness is  accompanied  by  molecular  displacements 
in  the  brain,  and  these  are  of  course  responded 
to  by  movements  in  the  ethereal  world.  Thus 
as  a  series  of  conscious  states  build  up  a 
continuous  memory  in  strict  accordance  with 
physical  laws  of  motion,1  so  a  correlative  mem- 
ory is  simultaneously  built  up  in  the  ethereal 
world  out  of  the  ethereal  correlatives  of  the 
molecular  displacements  which  go  on  in  our 
brains.  And  as  there  is  a  continual  transfer  of 
energy  from  the  visible  world  to  the  ether,  the 
extinction  of  vital  energy  which  we  call  death 
must  coincide  in  some  way  with  the  awakening 
of  vital  energy  in  the  correlative  world  ;  so  that 
the  darkening  of  consciousness  here  is  coinci- 
dent with  its  dawning  there.  In  this  way  death 
is  for  the  individual  but  a  transfer  from  one 
physical  state  of  existence  to  another  ;  and  so, 
on  the  largest  scale,  the  death  or  final  loss  of 
energy  by  the  whole  visible  universe  has  its 

1  See  my  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  part  ii.,  chap. 
xvi. 

46 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

counterpart  in  the  acquirement  of  a  maximum 
of  life  by  the  correlative  unseen  world. 

There  seems  to  be  a  certain  sort  of  rigorous 
logical  consistency  in  this  daring  speculation ; 
but  really  the  propositions  of  which  it  consists 
are  so  far  from  answering  to  anything  within 
the  domain  of  human  experience  that  we  are 
unable  to  tell  whether  any  one  of  them  logic- 
ally follows  from  its  predecessor  or  not.  It  is 
evident  that  we  are  quite  out  of  the  region  of 
scientific  tests,  and  to  whatever  view  our  authors 
may  urge  we  can  only  languidly  assent  that  it  is 
out  of  our  power  to  disprove  it. 

The  essential  weakness  of  such  a  theory  as 
this  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  thoroughly  mate- 
rialistic in  character.  It  is  currently  assumed 
that  the  doctrine  of  a  life  after  death  cannot 
be  defended  on  materialistic  grounds,  but  this 
is  altogether  too  hasty  an  assumption.  Our 
authors,  indeed,  are  not  philosophical  material- 
ists, like  Dr.  Priestley,  —  who  nevertheless  be- 
lieved in  a  future  life,  —  but  one  of  the  primary 
doctrines  of  materialism  lies  at  the  bottom 
of  their  argument.  Materialism  holds  for  one 
thing  that  consciousness  is  a  product  of  a  pecul- 
iar organization  of  matter,  and  for  another  thing 
that  consciousness  cannot  survive  the  disorgani- 
zation of  the  material  body  with  which  it  is  asso- 
ciated. As  held  by  philosophical  materialists, 
like  Buchner  and  Moleschott,  these  two  opin- 

47 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ions  are  strictly  consistent  with  each  other ;  nay, 
the  latter  seems  to  be  the  inevitable  inference 
from  the  former,  though  Priestley  did  not  so 
regard  it.  Now  our  authors  very  properly  re- 
fuse to  commit  themselves  to  the  opinion  that 
mind  is  the  product  of  matter,  but  their  argu- 
ment nevertheless  implies  that  some  sort  of 
material  vehicle  is  necessary  for  the  continuance 
of  mind  in  a  future  state  of  existence.  This 
material  vehicle  they  seek  to  supply  in  the 
theory  which  connects  by  invisible  bonds  of 
transmitted  energy  the  perishable  material  body 
with  its  counterpart  in  the  world  of  ether.  The 
materialism  of  the  argument  is  indeed  partly 
veiled  by  the  terminology  in  which  this  coun- 
terpart is  called  a  "  spiritual  body,"  but  in  this 
novel  use  or  abuse  of  scriptural  language  there 
seems  to  me  to  be  a  strange  confusion  of  ideas. 
Bear  in  mind  that  the  "  invisible  universe  "  into 
which  energy  is  constantly  passing  is  simply  the 
luminiferous  ether,  which  our  authors,  to  suit 
the  requirements  of  their  hypothesis,  have  gra- 
tuitously endowed  with  a  complexity  and  variety 
of  structure  analogous  to  that  of  the  visible 
world  of  matter.  Their  language  is  not  always 
quite  so  precise  as  one  could  desire,  for  while 
they  sometimes  speak  of  the  ether  itself  as  the 
"  unseen  universe,"  they  sometimes  allude  to 
a  primordial  medium  yet  subtler  in  constitu- 
tion and  presumably  more  immaterial.  Herein 
48 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

lies  the  confusion.  Why  should  the  luminifer- 
ous  ether,  or  any  primordial  medium  in  which 
it  may  have  been  generated,  be  regarded  as  in 
any  way  tc  spiritual  "  ?  Great  physicists,  like 
less  trained  thinkers,  are  sometimes  liable  to 
be  unconsciously  influenced  by  old  associations 
of  ideas  which,  ostensibly  repudiated,  still  lurk 
under  cover  of  the  words  we  use.  I  fear  that 
the  old  associations  which  led  the  ancients  to 
describe  the  soul  as  a  breath  or  a  shadow,  and 
which  account  for  the  etymologies  of  such 
words  as  "  ghost "  and  "  spirit,"  have  had 
something  to  do  with  this  spiritualization  of 
the  interstellar  ether.  Some  share  may  also 
have  been  contributed  by  the  Platonic  notion 
of  the  "  grossness  "  or  "  bruteness  "  of  tangible 
matter,  —  a  notion  which  has  survived  in  Chris- 
tian theology,  and  which  educated  men  of  the 
present  day  have  by  no  means  universally  out- 
grown. Save  for  some  such  old  associations  as 
these,  why  should  it  be  supposed  that  matter 
becomes  "  spiritualized "  as  it  diminishes  in 
apparent  substantiality  ?  Why  should  matter 
be  pronounced  respectable  in  the  inverse  ratio 
of  its  density  or  ponderability  ?  Why  is  a  dia- 
mond any  more  chargeable  with  "  grossness  " 
than  a  cubic  centimetre  of  hydrogen  ?  Obvi- 
ously such  fancies  are  purely  of  mythologic 
parentage.  Now  the  luminiferous  ether,  upon 
which  our  authors  make  such  extensive  de- 
49 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

mands,  may  be  physically  "  ethereal  "  enough, 
in  spite  of  the  enormous  elasticity  which  leads 
Professor  Jevons  to  characterize  it  as  "  adaman- 
tine ; "  but  most  assuredly  we  have  not  the 
slightest  reason  for  speaking  of  it  as  "  imma- 
terial "  or  "  spiritual."  Though  we  are  unable 
to  weigh  it  in  the  balance,  we  at  least  know  it 
as  a  transmitter  of  undulatory  movements,  the 
size  and  shape  of  which  we  can  accurately  mea- 
sure. Its  force-relations  with  ponderable  matter 
•are  not  only  universally  and  incessantly  main- 
tained, but  they  have  that  precisely  quantita- 
tive character  which  implies  an  essential  identity 
between  the  innermost  natures  of  the  two  sub- 
stances. We  have  seen  reason  for  thinking  it 
probable  that  ether  and  ordinary  matter  are 
alike  composed  of  vortex-rings  in  a  quasi-fric- 
tionless  fluid ;  but  whatever  be  the  fate  of  this 
subtle  hypothesis,  we  may  be  sure  that  no 
theory  will  ever  be  entertained  in  which  the 
analysis  of  ether  shall  require  different  symbols 
from  that  of  ordinary  matter.  In  our  authors' 
theory,  therefore,  the  putting  on  of  immortal- 
ity is  in  no  wise  the  passage  from  a  material 
to  a  spiritual  state.  It  is  the  passage  from  one 
kind  of  materially  conditioned  state  to  another. 
The  theory  thus  appeals  directly  to  our  experi- 
ences of  the  behaviour  of  matter ;  and  in  deriv- 
ing so  little  support  as  it  does  from  these 
experiences,  it  remains  an  essentially  weak 

50 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

speculation,  whatever  we  may  think  of  its  in- 
genuity. For  so  long  as  we  are  asked  to  accept 
conclusions  drawn  from  our  experiences  of  the 
material  world,  we  are  justified  in  demanding 
something  more  than  mere  unconditioned  pos- 
sibility. We  require  some  positive  evidence,  be 
it  ever  so  little  in  amount ;  and  no  theory  which 
cannot  furnish  such  positive  evidence  is  likely 
to  carry  to  our  minds  much  practical  convic- 
tion. 

This  is  what  I  meant  by  saying  that  the  great 
weakness  of  the  hypothesis  here  criticised  lies 
in  its  materialistic  character.  In  contrast  with 
this  we  shall  presently  see  that  the  assertion  of 
a  future  life  which  is  not  materially  conditioned, 
though  unsupported  by  any  item  of  experience 
whatever,  may  nevertheless  be  an  impregnable 
assertion.  But  first  I  would  conclude  the  fore- 
going criticism  by  ruling  out  altogether  the 
sense  in  which  our  authors  use  the  expression 
"  Unseen  Universe."  Scientific  inference,  how- 
ever remote,  is  connected  by  such  insensible 
gradations  with  ordinary  perception,  that  one 
may  well  question  the  propriety  of  applying 
the  term  "  unseen  "  to  that  which  is  presented 
to  "  the  mind's  eye "  as  inevitable  matter  of 
inference.  It  is  true  that  we  cannot  see  the 
ocean  of  ether  in  which  visible  matter  floats; 
but  there  are  many  other  invisible  things  which 
yet  we  do  not  regard  as  part  of  the  "  unseen 

51 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

world."  I  do  not  see  the  air  which  I  am  now 
breathing  within  the  four  walls  of  my  study, 
yet  its  existence  is  sufficiently  a  matter  of  sense- 
perception  as  it  fills  my  lungs  and  fans  my 
cheek.  The  atoms  which  compose  a  drop  of 
water  are  not  only  invisible,  but  cannot  in  any 
way  be  made  the  objects  of  sense-perception; 
yet  by  proper  inferences  from  their  behaviour 
we  can  single  them  out  for  measurement,  so 
that  Sir  William  Thomson  can  tell  us  that  if  the 
drop  of  water  were  magnified  to  the  size  of  the 
earth,  the  constituent  atoms  would  be  larger 
than  peas,  but  not  so  large  as  billiard-balls.  If 
we  do  not  see  such  atoms  with  our  eyes,  we 
have  one  adequate  reason  in  their  tiny  dimen- 
sions, though  there  are  further  reasons  than 
this.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  why  the  luminif- 
erous  ether  should  be  relegated  to  the  "  unseen 
world "  any  more  than  the  material  atom. 
Whatever  we  know  as  possessing  resistance  and 
extension,  whatever  we  can  subject  to  mathe- 
matical processes  of  measurement,  we  also  con- 
ceive as  existing  in  such  shape  that,  with  appro- 
priate eyes  and  under  proper  visual  conditions, 
we  might  see  it,  and  we  are  not  entitled  to  draw 
any  line  of  demarcation  between  such  an  object 
of  .inference  and  others  which  may  be  made 
objects  of  sense-perception.  To  set  apart  the 
ether  as  constituting  an  "  unseen  universe  "  is 
therefore  illegitimate  and  confusing.  It  intro- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

duces  a  distinction  where  there  is  none,  and 
obscures  the  fact  that  both  invisible  ether  and 
visible  matter  form  but  one  grand  universe  in 
which  the  sum  of  energy  remains  constant, 
though  the  order  of  its  distribution  endlessly 
varies. 

Very  different  would  be  the  logical  position 
of  a  theory  which  should  assume  the  existence 
of  an  "  Unseen  World  "  entirely  spiritual  in 
constitution,  and  in  which  material  conditions 
like  those  of  the  visible  world  should  have 
neither  place  nor  meaning.  Such  a  world  would 
not  consist  of  ethers  or  gases  or  ghosts,  but  of 
purely  psychical  relations  akin  to  such  as  con- 
stitute thoughts  and  feelings  when  our  minds 
are  least  solicited  by  sense-perceptions.  In  thus 
marking  off  the  "  Unseen  World "  from  the 
objective  universe  of  which  we  have  knowledge, 
our  line  of  demarcation  would  at  least  be  drawn 
in  the  right  place.  The  distinction  between  psy- 
chical and  material  phenomena  is  a  distinction 
of  a  different  order  from  all  other  distinctions 
known  to  philosophy,  and  it  immeasurably  tran- 
scends all  others.  The  progress  of  modern  dis- 
covery has  in  no  respect  weakened  the  force  of 
Descartes's  remark,  that  between  that  of  which 
the  differential  attribute  is  Thought  and  that 
of  which  the  differential  attribute  is  Extension, 
there  can  be  no  similarity,  no  community  of 
nature  whatever.  By  no  scientific  cunning  of  ex- 

53 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

periment  or  deduction  can  Thought  be  weighed 
or  measured  or  in  any  way  assimilated  to  such 
things  as  may  be  made  the  actual  or  possible  ob- 
jects of  sense-perception.  Modern  discovery,  so 
far  from  bridging  over  the  chasm  between  Mind 
and  Matter,  tends  rather  to  exhibit  the  distinc- 
tion between  them  as  absolute.  It  has,  indeed, 
been  rendered  highly  probable  that  every  act  of 
consciousness  is  accompanied  by  a  molecular 
motion  in  the  cells  and  fibres  of  the  brain  ;  and 
materialists  have  found  great  comfort  in  this 
fact,  while  theologians  and  persons  of  little  faith 
have  been  very  much  frightened  by  it.  But  since 
no  one  ever  pretended  that  thought  can  go  on, 
under  the  conditions  of  the  present  life,  with- 
out a  brain,  one  finds  it  rather  hard  to  sympa- 
thize either  with  the  self-congratulations  of  Dr. 
Buchner's  disciples a  or  with  the  terrors  of  their 
opponents.  But'  what  has  been  less  commonly 
remarked  is  the  fact  that  when  the  thought  and 
the  molecular  movement  thus  occur  simulta- 
neously, in  no  scientific  sense  is  the  thought  the 
product  of  the  molecular  movement.  The  sun- 
derived  energy  of  motion  latent  in  the  food  we 
eat  is  variously  transformed  within  the  organ- 
ism, until  some  of  it  appears  as  the  motion  of 

1  The  Nation  once  wittily  described  these  people  as  "  peo- 
ple who  believe  that  they  are  going  to  die  like  the  beasts,  and 
who  congratulate  themselves  that  they  are  going  to  die  like 
the  beasts." 

54 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  molecules  of  a  little  globule  of  nerve-matter 
in  the  brain.  In  a  rough  way  we  might  thus  say 
that  the  chemical  energy  of  the  food  indirectly 
produces  the  motion  of  these  little  nerve-mole- 
cules. But  does  this  motion  of  nerve-molecules 
now  produce  a  thought  or  state  of  consciousness  ? 
By  no  means.  It  simply  produces  some  other 
motion  of  nerve-molecules,  and  this  in  turn  pro- 
duces motion  of  contraction  or  expansion  in  some 
muscle,  or  becomes  transformed  into  the  chemi- 
cal energy  of  some  secreting  gland.  At  no  point 
in  the  whole  circuit  does  a  unit  of  motion  disap- 
pear as  motion  to  reappear  as  a  unit  of  con- 
sciousness. The  physical  process  is  complete  in 
itself,  and  the  thought  does  not  enter  into  it.  All 
that  we  can  say  is,  that  the  occurrence  of  the 
thought  is  simultaneous  with  that  part  of  the 
physical  process  which  consists  of  a  molecular 
movement  in  the  brain.1  To  be  sure,  the  thought 
is  always  there  when  summoned,  but  it  stands 
outside  the  dynamic  circuit,  as  something  utterly 
alien  from  and  incomparable  with  the  events 
which  summon  it.  No  doubt,  as  Professor 
Tyndall  observes,  if  we  knew  exhaustively  the 
physical  state  of  the  brain,  "  the  corresponding 
thought  or  feeling  might  be  inferred  ;  or,  given 
the  thought  or  feeling,  the  corresponding  state 
of  the  brain  might  be  inferred.  But  how  in- 

1  For  a  fuller  exposition  of  this  point,  see  my  Outlines  of 
Cosmic  Philosophy,  part  iii.,  chap.  iv. 

55 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ferred?  It  would  be  at  botton  not  a  case  of  logi- 
cal inference  at  all,  but  of  empirical  association. 
You  may  reply  that  many  of  the  inferences  of 
science  are  of  this  character ;  the  inference,  for 
example,  that  an  electric  current  of  a  given  di- 
rection will  deflect  a  magnetic  needle  in  a  defi- 
nite way ;  but  the  cases  differ  in  this,  that  the 
passage  from  the  current  to  the  needle,  if  not 
demonstrable,  is  thinkable,  and  that  we  enter- 
tain no  doubt  as  to  the  final  mechanical  solution 
of  the  problem.  But  the  passage  from  the  phys- 
ics of  the  brain  to  the  corresponding  facts  of  con- 
sciousness is  unthinkable.  Granted  that  a  defi- 
nite thought  and  a  definite  molecular  action 
in  the  brain  occur  simultaneously  ;  we  do  not 
possess  the  intellectual  organ,  nor  apparently 
any  rudiment  of  the  organ,  which  would  enable 
us  to  pass  by  a  process  of  reasoning  from  the 
one  to  the  other.  They  appear  together,  but 
we  do  not  know  why." 

An  unseen  world  consisting  of  purely  psy- 
chical or  spiritual  phenomena  would  accordingly 
be  demarcated  by  an  absolute  gulf  from  what 
we  call  the  material  universe,  but  would  not 
necessarily  be  discontinuous  with  the  psychical 
phenomena  which  we  find  manifested  in  connec- 
tion with  the  world  of  matter.  The  transfer  of 
matter,  or  physical  energy,  or  anything  else  that 
is  quantitatively  measurable,  into  such  an  unseen 

1  Fragments  of  Science,  p.  119. 

56 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

world,  may  be  set  down  as  impossible,  by  reason 
of  the  very  definition  of  such  a  world.  Any  hy- 
pothesis which  should  assume  such  a  transfer 
would  involve  a  contradiction  in  terms.  But 
the  hypothesis  of  a  survival  of  present  psychical 
phenomena  in  such  a  world,  after  being  denuded 
of  material  conditions,  is  not  in  itself  absurd  or 
self-contradictory,  though  it  may  be  impossible 
to  support  it  by  any  arguments  drawn  from  the 
domain  of  human  experience.  Such  is  the  shape 
which  it  seems  to  me  that,  in  the  present  state 
of  philosophy,  the  hypothesis  of  a  future  life 
must  assume.  We  have  nothing  to  say  to  gross 
materialistic  notions  of  ghosts  and  bogies,  and 
spirits  that  upset  tables  and  whisper  to  ignorant 
vulgar  women  the  wonderful  information  that 
you  once  had  an  aunt  Susan.  The  unseen  world 
imagined  in  our  hypothesis  is  not  connected 
with  the  present  material  universe  by  any  such 
"  invisible  bonds  "  as  would  allow  Bacon  and 
Addison  to  come  to  Boston  and  write  the  silli- 
est twaddle  in  the  most  ungrammatical  English 
before  a  roomful  of  people  who  have  never 
learned  how  to  test  what  they  are  pleased  to  call 
the  "  evidence  of  their  senses."  Our  hypothe- 
sis is  expressly  framed  so  as  to  exclude  all  inter- 
course whatever  between  the  unseen  world  of 
spirit  unconditioned  by  matter  and  the  present 
world  of  spirit  conditioned  by  matter  in  which 
all  our  experiences  have  been  gathered.  The 

57 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

hypothesis  being  framed  in  such  a  way,  the 
question  is,  What  has  philosophy  to  say  to  it? 
Can  we,  by  searching  our  experiences,  find  any 
reason  for  adopting  such  an  hypothesis  ?  Or, 
on  the  other  hand,  supposing  we  can  find  no 
such  reason,  would  the  total  failure  of  experi- 
mental evidence  justify  us  in  rejecting  it  ? 

The  question  is  so  important  that  I  will  re- 
state it.  I  have  imagined  a  world  made  up  of 
psychical  phenomena,  freed  from  the  material 
conditions  under  which  alone  we  know  such 
phenomena.  Can  we  adduce  any  proof  of  the 
possibility  of  such  a  world  ?  Or  if  we  cannot, 
does  our  failure  raise  the  slightest  presumption 
that  such  a  world  is  impossible  ? 

The  reply  to  the  first  clause  of  the  question 
is  sufficiently  obvious.  We  have  no  experience 
whatever  of  psychical  phenomena  save  as  mani- 
fested in  connection  with  material  phenomena. 
We  know  of  Mind  only  as  a  group  of  activities 
which  are  never  exhibited  to  us  except  through 
the  medium  of  motions  of  matter.  In  all  our 
experience  we  have  never  encountered  such 
activities  save  in  connection  with  certain  very 
complicated  groupings  of  highly  mobile  material 
particles  into  aggregates  which  we  call  living 
organisms.  And  we  have  never  found  them 
manifested  to  a  very  conspicuous  extent  save  in 
connection  with  some  of  those  specially  organ- 
ized aggregates  which  have  vertebrate  skeletons 

58 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  mammary  glands.  Nay,  more,  when  we 
survey  the  net  results  of  our  experience  up  to 
the  present  time,  we  find  indisputable  evidence 
that  in  the  past  history  of  the  visible  universe 
psychical  phenomena  have  only  begun  to  be 
manifested  in  connection  with  certain  complex 
aggregates  of  material  phenomena.  As  these 
material  aggregates  have  age  by  age  become 
more  complex  in  structure,  more  complex  psy- 
chical phenomena  have  been  exhibited.  The 
development  of  Mind  has  from  the  outset  been 
associated  with  the  development  of  Matter. 
And  to-day,  though  none  of  us  has  any  know- 
ledge of  the  end  of  psychical  phenomena  in  his 
own  case,  yet  from  all  the  marks  by  which  we 
recognize  such  phenomena  in  our  fellow-crea- 
tures, whether  brute  or  human,  we  are  taught 
that  when  certain  material  processes  have  been 
gradually  or  suddenly  brought  to  an  end,  psy- 
chical phenomena  are  no  longer  manifested. 
From  first  to  last,  therefore,  our  appeal  to  ex- 
perience gets  but  one  response.  We  have  not 
the  faintest  shadow  of  evidence  wherewith  to 
make  it  seem  probable  that  Mind  can  exist 
except  in  connection  with  a  material  body. 
Viewed  from  this  standpoint  of  terrestrial  expe- 
rience, there  is  no  more  reason  for  supposing 
that  consciousness  survives  the  dissolution  of 
the  brain  than  for  supposing  that  the  pungent 


59 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

flavour  of  table-salt  survives  its  decomposition 
into  metallic  sodium  and  gaseous  chlorine. 

Our  answer  from  this  side  is  thus  unequiv- 
ocal enough.  Indeed,  so  uniform  has  been  the 
teaching  of  experience  in  this  respect  that  even 
in  their  attempts  to  depict  a  life  after  death, 
men  have  always  found  themselves  obliged  to 
have  recourse  to  materialistic  symbols.  To  the 
mind  of  a  savage  the  future  world  is  a  mere 
reproduction  of  the  present,  with  its  everlasting 
huntings  and  fightings.  The  early  Christians 
looked  forward  to  a  renovation  of  the  earth  and 
the  bodily  resurrection  from  Sheol  of  the  right- 
eous. The  pictures  of  hell  and  purgatory,  and 
even  of  paradise,  in  Dante's  great  poem,  are  so 
intensely  materialistic  as  to  seem  grotesque  in 
this  more  spiritual  age.  But  even  to-day  the 
popular  conceptions  of  heaven  are  by  no  means 
freed  from  the  notion  of  matter ;  and  persons 
of  high  culture,  who  realize  the  inadequacy  of 
these  popular  conceptions,  are  wont  to  avoid 
the  difficulty  by  refraining  from  putting  their 
hopes  and  beliefs  into  any  definite  or  describ- 
able  form.  Not  unfrequently  one  sees  a  smile 
raised  at  the  assumption  of  knowledge  or  insight 
by  preachers  who  describe  in  eloquent  terms 
the  joys  of  a  future  state ;  yet  the  smile  does 
not  necessarily  imply  any  scepticism  as  to  the 
abstract  probability  of  the  soul's  survival.  The 


60 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

scepticism  is  aimed  at  the  character  of  the  de- 
scription rather  than  at  the  reality  of  the  thing 
described.  It  implies  a  tacit  agreement,  among 
cultivated  people,  that  the  unseen  world  must 
be  purely  spiritual  in  constitution.  The  agree- 
ment is  not  habitually  expressed  in  definite 
formulas,  for  the  reason  that  no  mental  image 
of  a  purely  spiritual  world  can  be  formed. 
Much  stress  is  commonly  laid  upon  the  recog- 
nition of  friends  in  a  future  life ;  and  however 
deep  a  meaning  may  be  given  to  the  phrase 
"  the  love  of  God,"  one  does  not  easily  realize 
that  a  heavenly  existence  could  be  worth  the 
longing  that  is  felt  for  it,  if  it  were  to  afford  no 
further  scope  for  the  pure  and  tender  household 
affections  which  give  to  the  present  life  its  pow- 
erful though  indefinable  charm.  Yet  the  recog- 
nition of  friends  in  a  purely  spiritual  world  is 
something  of  which  we  can  frame  no  concep- 
tion whatever.  We  may  look  with  unspeakable 
reverence  on  the  features  of  wife  or  child,  less 
because  of  their  physical  beauty  than  because  of 
the  beauty  of  soul  to  which  they  give  expres- 
sion, but  to  imagine  the  perception  of  soul  by 
soul  apart  from  the  material  structure  and  ac- 
tivities in  which  soul  is  manifested,  is  something 
utterly  beyond  our  power.  Nay,  even  when  we 
try  to  represent  to  ourselves  the  psychical  activ- 
ity of  any  single  soul  by  itself  as  continuing 

61 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

without  the  aid  of  the  physical  machinery  of 
sensation,  we  get  into  unmanageable  difficulties. 
A  great  part  of  the  contents  of  our  minds  con- 
sists of  sensuous  (chiefly  visual)  images,  and 
though  we  may  imagine  reflection  to  go  on 
without  further  images  supplied  by  vision  or 
hearing,  touch  or  taste  or  smell,  yet  we  cannot 
well  see  how  fresh  experiences  could  be  gained 
in  such  a  state.  The  reader,  if  he  require  fur- 
ther illustrations,  can  easily  follow  out  this  line 
of  thought.  Enough  has  no  doubt  been  said  to 
convince  him  that  our  hypothesis  of  the  sur- 
vival of  conscious  activity  apart  from  material 
conditions  is  not  only  utterly  unsupported  by 
any  evidence  that  can  be  gathered  from  the 
world  of  which  we  have  experience,  but  is  ut- 
terly and  hopelessly  inconceivable. 

It  is  inconceivable  because  it  is  entirely  with- 
out foundation  in  experience.  Our  powers  of 
conception  are  closely  determined  by  the  limits 
of  our  experience.  When  a  proposition,  or  com- 
bination of  ideas,  is  suggested,  for  which  there 
has  never  been  any  precedent  in  human  expe- 
rience, we  find  it  to  be  unthinkable,  —  the  ideas 
will  not  combine.  The  proposition  remains 
one  which  we  may  utter  and  defend,  and  perhaps 
vituperate  our  neighbours  for  not  accepting,  but 
it  remains  none  the  less  an  unthinkable  propo- 
sition. It  takes  terms  which  severally  have 
meanings  and  puts  them  together  into  a  phrase 

62 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

which  has  no  meaning.1  Now  when  we  try  to 
combine  the  idea  of  the  continuance  of  conscious 
activity  with  the  idea  of  the  entire  cessation  of 
material  conditions,  and  thereby  to  assert  the 
existence  of  a  purely  spiritual  world,  we  find 
that  we  have  made  an  unthinkable  proposition. 
We  may  defend  our  hypothesis  as  passionately 
as  we  like,  but  when  we  strive  coolly  to  realize 
it  in  thought  we  find  ourselves  baulked  at  every 
step. 

But  now  we  have  to  ask,  How  much  does 
this  inconceivability  signify  ?  In  most  cases, 
when  we  say  that  a  statement  is  inconceivable, 
we  practically  declare  it  to  be  untrue  ;  when 
we  say  that  a  statement  is  without  warrant 
in  experience,  we  plainly  indicate  that  we  con- 
sider it  unworthy  of  our  acceptance.  This  is 
legitimate  in  the  majority  of  cases  with  which 
we  have  to  deal  in  the  course  of  life,  because 
experience,  and  the  capacities  of  thought  called 
out  and  limited  by  experience,  are  our  only 
guides  in  the  conduct  of  life.  But  every  one 
will  admit  that  our  experience  is  not  infinite, 
and  that  our  capacity  of  conception  is  not  coex- 
tensive with  the  possibilities  of  existence.  It  is 
not  only  possible,  but  in  the  very  highest  de- 
gree probable,  that  there  are  many  things  in 
heaven,  if  not  on  earth,  which  are  undreamed 

1  See  my  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,    part  i.,    chap. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  in  our  philosophy.  Since  our  ability  to  con- 
ceive anything  is  limited  by  the  extent  of  our 
experience,  and  since  human  experience  is  very 
far  from  being  infinite,  it  follows  that  there  may 
be,  and  in  all  probability  is,  an  immense  region 
of  existence  in  every  way  as  real  as  the  region 
which  we  know,  yet  concerning  which  we  can- 
not form  the  faintest  rudiment  of  a  conception. 
Any  hypothesis  relating  to  such  a  region  of  ex- 
istence is  not  only  not  disproved  by  the  total  fail- 
ure of  evidence  in  its  favour,  but  the  total  failure 
of  evidence  does  not  raise  even  the  slightest 
frima  facie  presumption  against  its  validity. 

These  considerations  apply  with  great  force 
to  the  hypothesis  of  an  unseen  world  in  which 
psychical  phenomena  persist  in  the  absence  of 
material  conditions.  It  is  true,  on  the  one  hand, 
that  we  can  bring  up  no  scientific  evidence  in 
support  of  such  an  hypothesis.  But  on  the  other 
hand  it  is  equally  true  that  in  the  very  nature 
of  things  no  such  evidence  could  be  expected 
to  be  forthcoming  :  even  were  there  such  evi- 
dence in  abundance,  it  could  not  be  accessible 
to  us.  The  existence  of  a  single  soul,  or  con- 
geries of  psychical  phenomena,  unaccompanied 
by  a  material  body,  would  be  evidence  sufficient 
to  demonstrate  the  hypothesis.  But  in  the  na- 
ture of  things,  even  were  there  a  million  such 
souls  round  about  us,  we  could  not  become 
aware  of  the  existence  of  one  of  them,  for  we 

64 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

have  no  organ  or  faculty  for  the  perception  of 
soul  apart  from  the  material  structure  and  ac- 
tivities in  which  it  has  been  manifested  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  our  experience.  Even 
our  own  self-consciousness  involves  the  con- 
sciousness of  ourselves  as  partly  material  bodies. 
These  considerations  show  that  our  hypothesis 
is  very  different  from  the  ordinary  hypotheses 
with  which  science  deals.  The  entire  absence  of 
testimony  does  not  raise  a  negative  presumption 
except  in  cases  where  testimony  is  accessible.  In 
the  hypotheses  with  which  scientific  men  are 
occupied,  testimony  is  always  accessible  ;  and  if 
we  do  not  find  any,  the  presumption  is  raised 
that  there  is  none.  When  Dr.  Bastian  tells  us 
that  he  has  found  living  organisms  to  be  gener- 
ated in  sealed  flasks  from  which  all  living  germs 
had  been  excluded,  we  demand  the  evidence  for 
his  assertion.  The  testimony  of  facts  is  in  this 
case  hard  to  elicit,  and  only  skilful  reasoners 
can  properly  estimate  its  worth.  But  still  it  is 
all  accessible.  With  more  or  less  labour  it  can 
be  got  at ;  and  if  we  find  that  Dr.  Bastian  has 
produced  no  evidence  save  such  as  may  equally 
well  receive  a  different  interpretation  from  that 
which  he  has  given  it,  we  rightly  feel  that  a 
strong  presumption  has  been  raised  against  his 
hypothesis.  It  is  a  case  in  which  we  are  enti- 
tled to  expect  to  find  the  favouring  facts  if  there 
are  any,  and  so  long  as  we  do  not  find  such,  we 

65 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

are  justified  in  doubting  their  existence.  So 
when  our  authors  propound  the  hypothesis  of 
an  unseen  universe  consisting  of  phenomena 
which  occur  in  the  interstellar  ether,  or  even  in 
some  primordial  fluid  with  which  the  ether  has 
physical  relations,  we  are  entitled  to  demand 
their  proofs.  It  is  not  enough  to  tell  us  that 
we  cannot  disprove  such  a  theory.  The  bur- 
den of  proof  lies  with  them.  The  interstellar 
ether  is  something  concerning  the  physical  pro- 
perties of  which  we  have  some  knowledge;  and 
surely,  if  all  the  things  are  going  on  which  they 
suppose  in  a  medium  so  closely  related  to  or- 
dinary matter,  there  ought  to  be  some  traceable 
indications  of  the  fact.  At  least,  until  the  con- 
trary can  be  shown,  we  must  refuse  to  believe 
that  all  the  testimony  in  a  case  like  this  is  ut- 
terly inaccessible ;  and  accordingly,  so  long  as 
none  is  found,  especially  so  long  as  none  is 
even  alleged,  we  feel  that  a  presumption  is 
raised  against  their  theory. 

These  illustrations  will  show,  by  sheer  con- 
trast, how  different  it  is  with  the  hypothesis  of 
an  unseen  world  that  is  purely  spiritual.  The 
testimony  in  such  a  case  must,  under  the  con- 
ditions of  the  present  life,  be  forever  inaccessible. 
It  lies  wholly  outside  the  range  of  experience. 
However  abundant  it  may  be,  we  cannot  expect 
to  meet  with  it.  And  accordingly  our  failure 
to  produce  it  does  not  raise  even  the  slightest 

66 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

presumption  against  our  theory.  When  con- 
ceived in  this  way,  the  belief  in  a  future  life  is 
without  scientific  support ;  but  at  the  same  time 
it  is  placed  beyond  the  need  of  scientific  support 
and  beyond  the  range  of  scientific  criticism.  It 
is  a  belief  which  no  imaginable  future  advance 
in  physical  discovery  can  in  any  way  impugn. 
It  is  a  belief  which  is  in  no  sense  irrational, 
and  which  may  be  logically  entertained  without 
in  the  least  affecting  our  scientific  habit  of  mind 
or  influencing  our  scientific  conclusions. 

To  take  a  brief  illustration  :  we  have  alluded 
to  the  fact  that  in  the  history  of  our  present 
world  the  development  of  mental  phenomena 
has  gone  on  hand  in  hand  with  the  develop- 
ment of  organic  life,  while  at  the  same  time  we 
have  found  it  impossible  to  explain  mental 
phenomena  as  in  any  sense  the  product  of  ma- 
terial phenomena.  Now  there  is  another  side 
to  all  this.  The  great  lesson  which  Berkeley 
taught  mankind  was  that  what  we  call  material 
phenomena  are  really  the  products  of  con- 
sciousness co-operating  with  some  Unknown 
Power  (not  material)  existing  beyond  conscious- 
ness. We  do  very  well  to  speak  of  "  matter  " 
in  common  parlance,  but  all  that  the  word 
really  means  is  a  group  of  qualities  which  have 
no  existence  apart  from  our  minds.  Mod- 
ern philosophers  have  quite  generally  accepted 
this  conclusion,  and  every  attempt  to  overturn 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Berkeley's  reasoning  has  hitherto  resulted  in 
complete  and  disastrous  failure.  In  admitting 
this,  we  do  not  admit  the  conclusion  of  Abso- 
lute Idealism,  that  nothing  exists  outside  of 
consciousness.  What  we  admit  as  existing  in- 
dependently of  our  own  consciousness  is  the 
Power  that  causes  in  us  those  conscious  states 
which  we  call  the  perception  of  material  quali- 
ties. We  have  no  reason  for  regarding  this 
Power  as  in  itself  material :  indeed,  we  cannot 
do  so,  since  by  the  theory  material  qualities 
have  no  existence  apart  from  our  minds.  I 
have  elsewhere  sought  to  show  that  less  diffi- 
culty is  involved  in  regarding  this  Power  out- 
side of  us  as  quasi-psychical,  or  in  some  mea- 
sure similar  to  the  mental  part  of  ourselves ; 
and  I  have  gone  on  to  conclude  that  this 
Power  may  be  identical  with  what  men  have, 
in  all  times  and  by  the  aid  of  various  imperfect 
symbols,  endeavoured  to  apprehend  as  Deity.1 
We  are  thus  led  to  a  view  of  things  not  very 
unlike  the  views  entertained  by  Spinoza  and 
Berkeley.  We  are  led  to  the  inference  that 
what  we  call  the  material  universe  is  but  the 
manifestation  of  infinite  Deity  to  our  finite 
minds.  Obviously,  on  this  view,  Matter  —  the 
only  thing  to  which  materialists  concede  real 
existence  —  is  simply  an  orderly  phantasma- 

1  See  my  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  part  i.,  chap,  iv.; 
part  iii.,  chaps,  iii.,  iv. 

68 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

goria  ;  and  God  and  the  Soul  —  which  materi- 
alists regard  as  mere  fictions  of  the  imagina- 
tion —  are  the  only  conceptions  that  answer  to 
real  existences. 

In  the  foregoing  paragraph  I  have  been  set- 
ting down  opinions  with  which  I  am  prepared 
to  agree,  and  which  are  not  in  conflict  with 
anything  that  our  study  of  the  development  of 
the  objective  world  has  taught  us.  In  so  far 
as  that  study  may  be  supposed  to  bear  on  the 
question  of  a  future  life,  two  conclusions  are 
open  to  us.  First  we  may  say  that  since  the 
phenomena  of  mind  appear  and  run  their 
course  along  with  certain  specialized  groups  of 
material  phenomena,  so,  too,  they  must  disap- 
pear when  these  specialized  groups  are  broken 
up.  Or,  in  other  words,  we  may  say  that  every 
living  person  is  an  organized  whole  ;  conscious- 
ness is  something  which  pertains  to  this  or- 
ganized whole,  as  music  belongs  to  the  harp 
that  is  entire ;  but  when  the  harp  is  broken  it 
is  silent,  and  when  the  organized  whole  of 
personality  falls  to  pieces  consciousness  ceases 
forever.  To  many  well-disciplined  minds  this 
conclusion  seems  irresistible ;  and  doubtless  it 
would  be  a  sound  one  —  a  good  Baconian  con- 
clusion —  if  we  were  to  admit,  with  the  ma- 
terialists, that  the  possibilities  of  existence  are 
limited  by  our  tiny  and  ephemeral  experience. 

But  now,  supposing  some   Platonic  specu- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

lator  were  to  come  along  and  insist  upon  our 
leaving  room  for  an  alternative  conclusion ; 
suppose  he  were  to  urge  upon  us  that  all  this 
process  of  material  development,  with  the  dis- 
covery of  which  our  patient  study  has  been  re- 
warded, may  be  but  the  temporary  manifesta- 
tion of  relations  otherwise  unknown  between 
ourselves  and  the  infinite  Deity ;  suppose  he 
were  to  argue  that  psychical  qualities  may  be 
inherent  in  a  spiritual  substance  which  under 
certain  conditions  becomes  incarnated  in  mat- 
ter, to  wear  it  as  a  perishable  garment  for  a 
brief  season,  but  presently  to  cast  it  off  and 
enter  upon  the  freedom  of  a  larger  existence, 
—  what  reply  should  we  be  bound  to  make, 
bearing  in  mind  that  the  possibilities  of  exist- 
ence are  in  no  wise  limited  by  our  experience  ? 
Obviously  we  should  be  bound  to  admit  that 
in  sound  philosophy  this  conclusion  is  just  as 
likely  to  be  true  as  the  other.  We  should,  in- 
deed, warn  him  not  to  call  on  us  to  help  him 
to  establish  it  by  scientific  arguments  ;  and  we 
should  remind  him  that  he  must  not  make  il- 
licit use  of  his  extra-experiential  hypotheses  by 
bringing  them  into  the  treatment  of  scientific 
questions  that  lie  within  the  range  of  experi- 
ence. In  science,  for  example,  we  make  no  use 
of  the  conception  of  a  "  spiritual  substance  " 
(or  of  a  "  material  substance  "  either),  because 
we  can  get  along  sufficiently  well  by  dealing 

70 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

solely  with  qualities.  But  with  this  general 
understanding  we  should  feel  bound  to  con- 
cede the  impregnableness  of  his  main  position. 

I  have  supposed  this  theory  only  as  an  il- 
lustration, not  as  a  theory  which  I  am  pre- 
pared to  adopt.  My  present  purpose  is  not 
to  treat  as  an  advocate  the  question  of  a  future 
life,  but  to  endeavour  to  point  out  what  con- 
ditions should  be  observed  in  treating  the 
question  philosophically.  It  seems  to  me  that 
a  great  deal  is  gained  when  we  have  distinctly 
set  before  us  what  are  the  peculiar  conditions 
of  proof  in  the  case  of  such  transcendental 
questions.  We  have  gained  a  great  deal  when 
we  have  learned  how  thoroughly  impotent, 
how  truly  irrelevant,  is  physical  investigation 
in  the  presence  of  such  a  question.  If  we  get 
not  much  positive  satisfaction  for  our  unquiet 
yearnings,  we  occupy  at  any  rate  a  sounder 
philosophic  position  when  we  recognize  the 
limits  within  which  our  conclusions,  whether 
positive  or  negative,  are  valid. 

It  seems  not  improbable  that  Mr.  Mill  may 
have  had  in  mind  something  like  the  foregoing 
considerations  when  he  suggested  that  there  is 
no  reason  why  one  should  not  entertain  the 
belief  in  a  future  life  if  the  belief  be  necessary 
to  one's  spiritual  comfort.  Perhaps  no  sug- 
gestion in  Mr.  Mill's  richly  suggestive  posthu- 
mous work  has  been  more  generally  condemned 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

as  unphilosophical,  on  the  ground  that  in  mat- 
ters of  belief  we  must  be  guided,  not  by  our 
likes  and  dislikes,  but  by  the  evidence  that  is 
accessible.  The  objection  is  certainly  a  sound 
one  so  far  as  it  relates  to  scientific  questions 
where  evidence  is  accessible.  To  hesitate  to 
adopt  a  well-supported  theory  because  of  some 
vague  preference  for  a  different  view  is  in 
scientific  matters  the  one  unpardonable  sin,  — 
a  sin  which  has  been  only  too  often  committed. 
Even  in  matters  which  lie  beyond  the  range  of 
experience,  where  evidence  is  inaccessible,  desire 
is  not  to  be  regarded  as  by  itself  an  adequate 
basis  for  belief.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  Mr. 
Mill  showed  a  deeper  knowledge  of  the  limi- 
tations of  scientific  method  than  his  critics, 
when  he  thus  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  en- 
tertaining a  belief  not  amenable  to  scientific 
tests.  The  hypothesis  of  a  purely  spiritual 
unseen  world,  as  above  described,  is  entirely 
removed  from  the  jurisdiction  of  physical  in- 
quiry, and  can  only  be  judged  on  general 
considerations  of  what  has  been  called  "  moral 
probability ;  "  and  considerations  of  this  sort 
are  likely,  in  the  future  as  in  the  past,  to  pos- 
sess different  values  for  different  minds.  He 
who,  on  such  considerations,  entertains  a  be- 
lief in  a  future  life  may  not  demand  that  his 
sceptical  neighbour  shall  be  convinced  by  the 
same  considerations  ;  but  his  neighbour  is  at 

72 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  same  time  estopped  from  stigmatizing  his 
belief  as  unphilosophical. 

The  consideration  which  must  influence  most 
minds  in  their  attitude  toward  this  question,  is 
the  craving,  almost  universally  felt,  for  some 
teleological  solution  to  the  problem  of  existence. 
Why  we  are  here  now  is  a  question  of  even 
profounder  interest  than  whether  we  are  to  live 
hereafter.  Unfortunately  its  solution  carries  us 
no  less  completely  beyond  the  range  of  experi- 
ence. The  belief  that  all  things  are  working 
together  for  some  good  end  is  the  most  essen- 
tial expression  of  religious  faith :  of  all  intel- 
lectual propositions  it  is  the  one  most  closely 
related  to  that  emotional  yearning  for  a  higher 
and  better  life  which  is  the  sum  and  substance 
of  religion.  Yet  all  the  treatises  on  natural  the- 
ology that  have  ever  been  written  have  barely 
succeeded  in  establishing  a  low  degree  of  scien- 
tific probability  for  this  belief.  In  spite  of  the 
eight  Bridgewater  Treatises,  and  the  "  Ninth  " 
beside,  dysteleology  still  holds  full  half  the  field 
as  against  teleology.  Most  of  this  difficulty, 
however,  results  from  the  crude  anthropomor- 
phic views  which  theologians  have  held  con- 
cerning God.  Once  admitting  that  the  Divine 
attributes  may  be  (as  they  must  be)  incommen- 
surably  greater  than  human  attributes,  our  faith 
that  all  things  are  working  together  for  good 
may  remain  unimpugned. 

73 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

To  many  minds  such  a  faith  will  seem  incom- 
patible with  belief  in  the  ultimate  destruction 
of  sentiency  amid  the  general  doom  of  the 
material  universe.  A  good  end  can  have  no 
meaning  to  us  save  in  relation  to  consciousness 
that  distinguishes  and  knows  the  good  from 
the  evil.  There  could  be  no  better  illustration 
of  how  we  are  hemmed  in  than  the  very  inade- 
quacy of  the  words  with  which  we  try  to  dis- 
cuss this  subject.  Such  words  have  all  gained 
their  meanings  from  human  experience,  and 
hence  of  necessity  carry  anthropomorphic  im- 
plications. But  we  cannot  help  this.  We  must 
think  with  the  symbols  with  which  experience 
has  furnished  us ;  and  when  we  so  think,  there 
does  seem  to  be  little  that  is  even  intellectually 
satisfying  in  the  awful  picture  which  science 
shows  us,  of  giant  worlds  concentrating  out  of 
nebulous  vapour,  developing  with  prodigious 
waste  of  energy  into  theatres  of  all  that  is  grand 
and  sacred  in  spiritual  endeavour,  clashing  and 
exploding  again  into  dead  vapour-balls,  only  to 
renew  the  same  toilful  process  without  end,  — 
a  senseless  bubble-play  of  Titan  forces,  with 
life,  love,  and  aspiration  brought  forth  only  to 
be  extinguished.  The  human  mind,  however 
"  scientific  "  its  training,  must  often  recoil  from 
the  conclusion  that  this  is  all ;  and  there  are 
moments  when  one  passionately  feels  that  this 
cannot  be  all.  On  warm  June  mornings  in  green 

74 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

country  lanes,  with  sweet  pine-odours  wafted  in 
the  breeze  which  sighs  through  the  branches, 
and  cloud-shadows  flitting  over  far-off  blue 
mountains,  while  little  birds  sing  their  love- 
songs,  and  golden-haired  children  weave  gar- 
lands of  wild  roses  ;  or  when  in  the  solemn 
twilight  we  listen  to  wondrous  harmonies  of 
Beethoven  and  Chopin  that  stir  the  heart  like 
voices  from  an  unseen  world ;  at  such  times 
one  feels  that  the  profoundest  answer  which 
science  can  give  to  our  questionings  is  but  a 
superficial  answer  after  all.  At  these  moments, 
when  the  world  seems  fullest  of  beauty,  one 
feels  most  strongly  that  it  is  but  the  harbinger 
of  something  else,  —  that  the  ceaseless  play  of 
phenomena  is  no  mere  sport  of  Titans,  but  an 
orderly  scene,  with  its  reason  for  existing,  its 

"  One  divine  far-off  event 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves." 

Difficult  as  it  is  to  disentangle  the  elements 
of  reasoning  that  enter  into  these  complex 
groups  of  feeling,  one  may  still  see,  I  think,  that 
it  is  speculative  interest  in  the  world,  rather 
than  anxious  interest  in  self,  that  predominates. 
The  desire  for  immortality  in  its  lowest  phase 
is  merely  the  outcome  of  the  repugnance  we 
feel  toward  thinking  of  the  final  cessation  of 
vigorous  vital  activity.  Such  a  feeling  is  natu- 
rally strong  with  healthy  people.  But  in  the 
mood  which  I  have  above  tried  to  depict,  this 

75 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

feeling,  or  any  other  which  is  merely  self-re- 
garding, is  lost  sight  of  in  the  feeling  which 
associates  a  future  life  with  some  solution  of 
the  burdensome  problem  of  existence.  Had 
we  but  faith  enough  to  lighten  the  burden  of 
this  problem,  the  inferior  question  would  per- 
haps be  less  absorbing.  Could  we  but  know 
that  our  present  lives  are  working  together  to- 
wards some  good  end,  even  an  end  in  no  wise 
anthropomorphic,  it  would  be  of  less  conse- 
quence whether  we  were  individually  to  endure. 
To  the  dog  under  the  knife  of  the  experimenter, 
the  world  is  a  world  of  pure  evil ;  yet  could 
the  poor  beast  but  understand  the  alleviation 
of  human  suffering  to  which  he  is  contributing, 
he  would  be  forced  to  own  that  this  is  not  quite 
true ;  and  if  he  were  also  a  heroic  or  Christian 
dog,  the  thought  would  perhaps  take  away  from 
death  its  sting.  The  analogy  may  be  a  crude 
one ;  but  the  reasonableness  of  the  universe  is 
at  least  as  far  above  our  comprehension  as  the 
purposes  of  man  surpass  the  understanding  of 
the  dog.  Believing,  however,  though  as  a  sim- 
ple act  of  trust,  that  the  end  will  crown  the 
work,  we  may  rise  superior  to  the  question 
which  has  here  concerned  us,  and  exclaim,  in 
the  supreme  language  of  faith,  "  Though  He 
slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him  !  " 
,  1875- 


II 

"THE    TO-MORROW    OF    DEATH" 

FEW  of  those  who  find  pleasure  in  fre- 
quenting bookstores  can  have  failed  to 
come  across  one  or  more  of  the  pro- 
fusely illustrated  volumes  in  which  M.  Louis 
Figuier  has  sought  to  render  dry  science  enter- 
taining to  the  multitude.  And  of  those  who 
may  have  casually  turned  over  their  pages,  there 
are  probably  none,  competent  to  form  an  opin- 
ion, who  have  not  speedily  perceived  that  these 
pretentious  books  belong  to  the  class  of  pests 
and  unmitigated  nuisances  in  literature.  Anti- 
quated views,  utter  lack  of  comprehension  of 
the  subjects  treated,  and  shameless  unscrupu- 
lousness  as  to  accuracy  of  statement,  are  faults 
but  ill  atoned  for  by  sensational  pictures  of  the 
"  dragons  of  the  prime  that  tear  each  other  in 
their  slime,"  or  of  the  Newton-like  brow  and 
silken  curls  of  that  primitive  man  in  contrast 
with  whom  the  said  dragons  have  been  likened 
to  "  mellow  music." 

Nevertheless,  the  sort  of  scientific  reputation 
which  these  discreditable  performances  have 
gained  for  M.  Figuier  among  an  uncritical  pub- 

77 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

lie  is  such  as  to  justify  us  in  devoting  a  few 
paragraphs  to  a  book l  which,  on  its  own  mer- 
its, is  unworthy  of  any  notice  whatever.  "  The 
To-morrow  of  Death  " —  if  one  were  to  put  his 
trust  in  the  translator's  prefatory  note  —  dis- 
cusses a  grave  question  upon  "  purely  scientific 
methods."  We  are  glad  to  see  this  remark, 
because  it  shows  what  notions  may  be  enter- 
tained by  persons  of  average  intelligence  with 
reference  to  "  scientific  methods."  Those  —  and 
they  are  many  —  who  vaguely  think  that  science 
is  something  different  from  common-sense,  and 
that  any  book  is  scientific  which  talks  about 
perihelia  and  asymptotes  and  cetacea,  will  find 
their  vague  notions  here  well  corroborated. 
Quite  different  will  be  the  impression  made 
upon  those  —  and  they  are  yet  too  few  —  who 
have  learned  that  the  method  of  science  is  the 
common-sense  method  of  cautiously  weighing 
evidence  and  withholding  judgment  where  evi- 
dence is  not  forthcoming.  If  talking  about 
remote  and  difficult  subjects  suffice  to  make  one 
scientific,  then  is  M.  Figuier  scientific  to  a  quite 
terrible  degree.  He  writes  about  the  starry 
heavens  as  if  he  had  been  present  at  the  hour 
of  creation,  or  had  at  least  accompanied  the 
Arabian  prophet  on  his  famous  night-journey. 

1  The  To-morrow  of  Death  ;  or,  The  Future  Life  accord- 
ing to  Science.  By  Louis  Figuier.  Translated  from  the 
French  by  S.  R.  Crocker.  Boston:  Roberts  Brothers.  1872. 

78 


"THE  TO-MORROW  OF  DEATH" 

Nor  is  his  knowledge  of  physiology  and  other 
abstruse  sciences  at  all  less  remarkable.  But 
these  things  will  cease  to  surprise  us  when  we 
learn  the  sources,  hitherto  suspected  only  in 
mythology,  from  which  favoured  mortals  can 
obtain  a  knowledge  of  what  is  going  on  outside 
of  our  planet. 

The  four  inner  planets  being  nearly  alike  in 
size  (?)  and  in  length  of  day,  M.  Figuier  infers, 
by  strictly  scientific  methods,  that  whatever  is 
true  of  one  of  them,  as  our  earth,  will  be  true 
of  the  others  (p.  34).  Hence,  they  are  all  in- 
habited by  human  beings.  It  is  true  that  human 
beings  must  find  Venus  rather  warm,  and  are 
not  unlikely  to  be  seriously  incommoded  by 
the  tropical  climate  of  Mercury.  But  we  must 
remember  that  "  the  men  of  Venus  and  Mer- 
cury are  made  by  nature  to  resist  heat,  as  those 
of  Jupiter  and  Saturn  are  made  to  endure  cold, 
and  those  of  the  Earth  and  Mars  to  live  in 
a  mean  temperature  :  otherwise  they  could  not 
exist"  (p.  72).  In  view  of  this  charming  speci- 
men of  a  truly  scientific  inference,  it  is  almost 
too  bad  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  M. 
Figuier  is  quite  behind  the  age  in  his  statement 
of  facts.  So  far  from  Jupiter  and  Saturn  being 
cold,  observation  plainly  indicates  that  they  are 
prodigiously  hot,  if  not  even  incandescent  and 
partly  self-luminous ;  the  explanation  being 
that,  by  reason  of  their  huge  bulk,  they  still 
79 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

retain  much  of  the  primitive  heat  which  smaller 
planets  have  more  quickly  radiated  away.  As 
for  M.  Figuier's  statement,  that  polar  snows 
have  been  witnessed  on  these  planets,  it  is 
simply  untrue;  no  such  thing  has  ever  been 
seen  there.  Mars,  on  the  other  hand,  has  been 
observed  to  resemble  in  many  important  re- 
spects its  near  neighbour,  the  Earth ;  whence 
our  author  declares  that  if  an  aeronaut  were  to 
shoot  clear  of  terrestrial  gravitation  and  land 
upon  Mars,  he  would  unquestionably  suppose 
himself  to  be  still  upon  the  Earth.  For  aero- 
lites, it  seems,  are  somehow  fired  down  upon 
our  planet  both  from  Mars  and  from  Venus ; 
and  aerolites  sometimes  contain  vegetable  mat- 
ter (?).  Therefore,  Mars  has  a  vegetation,  and 
very  likely  its  red  colour  is  caused  by  its  luxu- 
riant autumnal  foliage  (p.  47) !  To  return  to 
Jupiter:  this  planet,  indeed,  has  inconveniently 
short  days.  "In  his  '  Picture  of  the  Heavens,' 
the  German  astronomer,  Littrow  (these  Ger- 
mans think  of  nothing  but  gormandizing],  asks  how 
the  people  of  Jupiter  order  their  meals  in  the 
short  interval  of  five  hours."  Nevertheless,  says 
our  author,  the  great  planet  is  compensated  for 
this  inconvenience  by  its  equable  and  delicious 
climate. 

In  view,  however,  of  our  author's  more 
striking  and  original  disclosures,  one  would 
suppose  that  all  this  discussion  of  the  physical 

80 


"THE  TO-MORROW  OF  DEATH" 

conditions  of  existence  on  the  various  planets 
might  have  been  passed  over  without  detriment 
to  the  argument.  After  these  efforts  at  proving 
(for  M.  Figuier  presumably  regards  this  rigma- 
role as  proof)  that  all  the  members  of  our  solar 
system  are  habitable,  the  interplanetary  ether  is 
forthwith  peopled  thickly  with  "  souls,"  with- 
out any  resort  to  argument.  This,  we  suppose, 
is  one  of  those  scientific  truths  which,  as  M. 
Figuier  tells  us,  precede  and  underlie  demon- 
stration. Upon  this  impregnable  basis  is  reared 
the  scientific  theory  of  a  future  life.  When  we 
die  our  soul  passes  into  some  other  terrestrial 
body,  unless  we  have  been  very  good,  in  which 
case  we  at  once  soar  aloft  and  join  the  noble 
fraternity  of  the  ether-folk.  Bad  men  and  young 
children,  on  dying,  must  undergo  renewed  pro- 
bation here  below,  but  ultimately  all  pass  away 
into  the  interplanetary  ether.  The  dweller  in 
ether  is  chiefly  distinguished  from  the  mundane 
mortal  by  his  acute  senses  and  his  ability  to 
subsist  without  food.  He  can  see  as  if  through 
a  telescope  and  microscope  combined.  His 
intelligence  is  so  great  that  in  comparison  an 
Aristotle  would  seem  idiotic.  It  should  not  be 
forgotten,  too,  that  he  possesses  eighty-five  per 
cent  of  soul  to  fifteen  per  cent  of  body,  whereas 
in  terrestrial  man  the  two  elements  are  mixed  in 
equal  proportions.  There  is  no  sex  among  the 
ether-folk,  their  numbers  being  kept  up  by  the 
81 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

influx  of  souls  from  the  various  planets.  "  Ali- 
mentation, that  necessity  which  tyrannizes  over 
men  and  animals,  is  not  imposed  upon  the 
inhabitants  of  ether.  Their  bodies  must  be  re- 
paired and  sustained  by  the  simple  respiration 
of  the  fluid  in  which  they  are  immersed,  that  is, 
of  ether."  Most  likely,  continues  our  scientific 
author,  the  physiological  functions  of  the  ether- 
folk  are  confined  to  respiration,  and  that  it  is 
possible  to  breathe  "  without  numerous  organs 
is  proved  by  the  fact  that  in  all  of  a  whole  class 
of  animals  —  the  batrachians  —  the  mere  bare 
skin  constitutes  the  whole  machinery  of  respira- 
tion "  (p.  95).  Allowing  for  the  unfortunate 
slip  of  the  pen  by  which  "  batrachians  "  are  sub- 
stituted for  "  fresh-water  polyps,"  how  can  we 
fail  to  admire  the  severity  of  the  scientific 
method  employed  in  reaching  these  interesting 
conclusions  ? 

But  the  King  of  Serendib  must  die,  nor  will 
the  relentless  scythe  of  Time  spare  our  Ethe- 
rians,  with  all  their  exalted  attributes.  They 
will  die  repeatedly ;  and  after  having  through 
sundry  periods  of  probation  attained  spiritual 
perfection,  they  will  all  pour  into  the  sun.  Since 
it  is  the  sun  which  originates  life  and  feeling  and 
thought  upon  the  surface  of  our  earth,  "why 
may  we  not  declare  that  the  rays  transmitted  by 
the  sun  to  the  earth  and  the  other  planets  are 


"THE  TO-MORROW  OF  DEATH" 

nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  emanations  of 
these  souls  ?  "  And  now  we  may  begin  to  form 
an  adequate  conception  of  the  rigorously  scien- 
tific character  of  our  author's  method.  There 
have  been  many  hypotheses  by  which  to  account 
for  the  supply  of  solar  radiance.  One  of  the 
most  ingenious  and  probable  of  these  hypo- 
theses is  that  of  Helmholtz,  according  to  which 
the  solar  radiance  is  due  to  the  arrested  motion 
of  the  sun's  constituent  particles  towards  their 
common  centre  of  gravity.  But  this  is  too  fan- 
ciful to  satisfy  M.  Figuier.  The  speculations  of 
Helmholtz  "  have  the  disadvantage  of  resting 
on  the  idea  of  the  sun's  nebulosity,  —  an  hy- 
pothesis which  would  need  to  be  more  closely 
examined  before  serving  as  a  basis  for  so  impor- 
tant a  deduction."  Accordingly,  M.  Figuier 
propounds  an  explanation  which  possesses  the 
signal  advantage  that  there  is  nothing  hypothet- 
ical in  it.  "In  our  opinion,  the  solar  radiation 
is  sustained  by  the  continual  influx  of  souls 
into  the  sun."  This,  as  the  reader  will  perceive, 
is  the  well-known  theory  of  Mayer,  that  the  so- 
lar heat  is  due  to  a  perennial  bombardment  of 
the  sun  by  meteors,  save  that,  in  place  of  gross 
materialistic  meteors,  M.  Figuier  puts  ethereal 
souls.  The  ether-folk  are  daily  raining  into  the 
solar  orb  in  untold  millions,  and  to  the  unceas- 
ing concussion  is  due  the  radiation  which  main- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

tains  life  in  the  planets,  and  thus  the  circle  is 
complete. 

In  spite  of  their  exalted  position,  the  ether- 
folk  do  not  disdain  to  mingle  with  the  affairs 
of  terrestrial  mortals.  They  give  us  counsel  in 
dreams,  and  it  is  from  this  source,  we  presume, 
that  our  author  has  derived  his  rigid  notions  as 
to  scientific  method.  In  evidence  of  this  dream- 
theory  we  have  the  usual  array  of  cases, "  a  cele- 
brated journalist,  M.  R.,"  "  M.  L.,  a  lawyer," 
etc.,  etc.,  as  in  most  books  of  this  kind. 

M.  Figuier  is  not  a  Darwinian :  the  derivation 
of  our  bodies  from  the  bodies  of  apes  is  a  con- 
ception too  grossly  materialistic  for  him.  Our 
souls,  however,  he  is  quite  willing  to  derive  from 
the  souls  of  lower  animals.  Obviously  we  have 
pre-existed  ;  how  are  we  to  account  for  Mozart's 
precocity  save  by  supposing  his  pre-existence  ? 
He  brought  with  him  the  musical  skill  acquired 
in  a  previous  life.  In  general,  the  souls  of  mu- 
sical children  come  from  nightingales,  while  the 
souls  of  great  architects  have  passed  into  them 
from  beavers  (p.  247).  We  do  not  remember 
these  past  existences,  it  is  true ;  but  when  we 
become  ether-folk,  we  shall  be  able  to  look  back 
in  recollection  over  the  whole  series. 

Amid  these  sublime  inquiries,  M.  Figuier  is 
sometimes  notably  oblivious  of  humbler  truths, 
as  might  indeed  be  expected.  Thus  he  repeat- 

84 


"THE  TO-MORROW  OF  DEATH" 

edly  alludes  to  Locke  as  the  author  of  the  doc- 
trine of  innate  ideas  (!  I),1  and  he  informs  us 
that  Kepler  never  quitted  Protestant  England 
(p.  335),  though  we  believe  that  the  nearest 
Kepler  ever  came  to  living  in  England  was  the 
refusing  of  Sir  Henry  Wotton's  request  that  he 
should  move  thither. 

And  lastly,  we  are  treated  to  a  real  dialogue, 
with  quite  a  dramatic  mise  en  scene.  The  au- 
thor's imaginary  friend,  Theophilus,  enters, 
"  seats  himself  in  a  comfortable  chair,  places  an 
ottoman  under  his  feet,  a  book  under  his  elbow 
to  support  it,  and  a  cigarette  of  Turkish  tobacco 
between  his  lips,  and  sets  himself  to  the  task  of 
listening  with  a  grave  air  of  collectedness,  re- 
lieved by  a  certain  touch  of  suspicious  severity, 
as  becomes  the  arbiter  in  a  literary  and  philo- 
sophic matter."  "  And  so,"  begins  our  author, 
"  you  wish  to  know,  my  dear  Theophilus,  where 
I  locate  God?  I  locate  him  in  the  centre  of 
the  universe,  or,  in  better  phrase,  at  the  central 
focus,  which  must  exist  somewhere,  of  all  the 
stars  that  make  the  universe,  and  which,  borne 
onward  in  a  common  movement,  gravitate  to- 
gether around  this  focus." 

Much  more,  of  an  equally  scientific  character, 

1  Pages  251,  252,  287.  So  in  the  twenty-first  century 
some  avatar  of  M.  Figuier  will  perhaps  describe  the  late  Pro- 
fessor Agassiz  as  the  author  of  the  Darwinian  theory. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

follows ;  but  in  fairness  to  the  reader,  who  is 
already  blaming  us  for  wasting  the  precious 
moments  over  such  sorry  trash,  we  may  as  well 
conclude  our  sketch  of  this  new  line  of  specu- 
lation. 

May,  1872. 


86 


Ill 

THE   JESUS   OF   HISTORY1 

OF  all  the  great  founders  of  religions, 
Jesus  is  at  once  the  best  known  and 
the  least  known  to  the  modern  scholar. 
From  the  dogmatic  point  of  view  he  is  the  best 

1  The  Jesus  of  History.  Anonymous.  8vo.  pp.  426. 
London  :  Williams  &  Norgate,  1869. 

Vie  de  Jesus,  par  Ernest  Renan.  Paris,  1867.  (Thir- 
teenth edition,  revised  and  partly  rewritten. ) 

In  republishing  this  and  the  following  article  on  "  The 
Christ  of  Dogma,"  I  am  aware  that  they  do  but  scanty  jus- 
tice to  their  very  interesting  subjects.  So  much  ground  is 
covered  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  treat  it  satisfactorily  in 
a  pair  of  review-articles  ;  and  in  particular  the  views  adopted 
with  regard  to  the  New  Testament  literature  are  rather  indi- 
cated than  justified.  These  defects  I  hope  to  remedy  in  a 
future  work  on  "Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  the  Founding  of 
Christianity,"  for  which  the  present  articles  must  be  regarded 
as  furnishing  only  a  few  introductory  hints.  This  work  has 
been  for  several  years  on  my  mind,  but  as  it  may  still  be  long 
before  I  can  find  the  leisure  needful  for  writing  it  out,  it  seemed 
best  to  republish  these  preliminary  sketches  which  have  been 
some  time  out  of  print.  The  projected  work,  however,  while 
covering  all  the  points  here  treated,  will  have  a  much  wider 
scope,  dealing  on  the  one  hand  with  the  natural  genesis  of  the 
complex  aggregate  of  beliefs  and  aspirations  known  as  Chris- 
tianity, and  on  the  other  hand  with  the  metamorphoses  which 

87 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

known,  from  the  historic  point  of  view  he  is  the 
least  known.  The  Christ  of  dogma  is  in  every 
lineament  familiar  to  us  from  early  childhood ; 
but  concerning  the  Jesus  of  history  we  possess 
but  few  facts  resting  upon  trustworthy  evidence, 
and  in  order  to  form  a  picture  of  him  at  once 
consistent,  probable,  and  distinct  in  its  out- 
lines, it  is  necessary  to  enter  upon  a  long  and 
difficult  investigation,  in  the  course  of  which 
some  of  the  most  delicate  apparatus  of  modern 
criticism  is  required.  This  circumstance  is  suf- 
ficiently singular  to  require  especial  explanation. 
The  case  of  Sakyamuni,  the  founder  of  Bud- 
dhism, which  may  perhaps  be  cited  as  parallel, 

are  being  wrought  in  this  aggregate  by  modern  knowledge  and 
modern  theories  of  the  world. 

The  views  adopted  in  the  present  essay  as  to  the  date  of 
the  synoptic  gospels  may  seem  over-conservative  to  those 
who  accept  the  ably-argued  conclusions  of  "  Supernatural  Re- 
ligion." Quite  possibly  in  a  more  detailed  discussion  these 
briefly-indicated  data  may  require  revision  ;  but  for  the  pre- 
sent it  seems  best  to  let  the  article  stand  as  it  was  written. 
The  author  of  "  Supernatural  Religion  "  would  no  doubt  ad- 
mit that,  even  if  the  synoptic  gospels  had  not  assumed  their 
present  form  before  the  end  of  the  second  century,  neverthe- 
less the  body  of  tradition  contained  in  them  had  been  com- 
mitted to  writing  very  early  in  that  century.  So  much  appears 
to  be  proved  by  the  very  variations  of  text  upon  which  his 
argument  relies.  And  if  this  be  granted,  the  value  of  the  syn- 
optics as  historical  evidence  is  not  materially  altered.  With 
their  value  as  testimony  to  so-called  supernatural  events,  the 
present  essay  is  in  no  way  concerned. 

88 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

is  in  reality  wholly  different.  Not  only  did  Sak- 
yamuni  live  five  centuries  earlier  than  Jesus, 
among  a  people  that  have  at  no  time  possessed 
the  art  of  insuring  authenticity  in  their  records 
of  events,  and  at  an  era  which  is  at  best  but 
dimly  discerned  through  the  mists  of  fable  and 
legend,  but  the  work  which  he  achieved  lies 
wholly  out  of  the  course  of  European  history, 
and  it  is  only  in  recent  times  that  his  career  has 
presented  itself  to  us  as  a  problem  needing  to 
be  solved.  Jesus,  on  the  other  hand,  appeared 
in  an  age  which  is  familiarly  and  in  many  re- 
spects minutely  known  to  us,  and  among  a  peo- 
ple whose  fortunes  we  can  trace  with  historic 
certainty  for  at  least  seven  centuries  previous  to 
his  birth ;  while  his  life  and  achievements  have 
probably  had  a  larger  share  in  directing  the  en- 
tire subsequent  intellectual  and  moral  develop- 
ment of  Europe  than  those  of  any  other  man 
who  has  ever  lived.  Nevertheless,  the  details 
of  his  personal  career  are  shrouded  in  an  obscu- 
rity almost  as  dense  as  that  which  envelops  the 
life  of  the  remote  founder  of  Buddhism. 

This  phenomenon,  however,  appears  less 
strange  and  paradoxical  when  we  come  to  ex- 
amine it  more  closely.  A  little  reflection  will 
disclose  to  us  several  good  reasons  why  the 
historical  records  of  the  life  of  Jesus  should  be 
so  scanty  as  they  are.  In  the  first  place,  the 
activity  of  Jesus  was  private  rather  than  public. 
89 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Confined  within  exceedingly  narrow  limits,  both 
of  space  and  of  duration,  it  made  no  impression 
whatever  upon  the  politics  or  the  literature  of 
the  time.  His  name*  does  not  occur  in  the  pages 
of  any  contemporary  writer,  Roman,  Greek,  or 
Jewish.  Doubtless  the  case  would  have  been 
wholly  different,  had  he,  like  Mohammed,  lived 
to  a  ripe  age,  and  had  the  exigencies  of  his  pecul- 
iar position  as  the  Messiah  of  the  Jewish  peo- 
ple brought  him  into  relations  with  the  Empire  ; 
though  whether,  in  such  case,  the  success  of  his 
grand  undertaking  would  have  been  as  complete 
as  it  has  actually  been,  may  well  be  doubted. 

Secondly,  Jesus  did  not,  like  Mohammed 
and  Paul,  leave  behind  him  authentic  writings 
which  might  serve  to  throw  light  upon  his 
mental  development  as  well  as  upon  the  ex- 
ternal facts  of  his  career.  Without  the  Koran 
and  the  four  genuine  Epistles  of  Paul,  we  should 
be  nearly  as  much  in  the  dark  concerning  these 
great  men  as  we  now  are  concerning  the  his- 
torical Jesus.  We  should  be  compelled  to  rely, 
in  the  one  case,  upon  the  untrustworthy  gossip 
of  Mussulman  chroniclers,  and  in  the  other  case 
upon  the  garbled  statements  of  the  "  Acts  of 
the  Apostles,"  a  book  written  with  a  distinct 
dogmatic  purpose,  sixty  or  seventy  years  after 
the  occurrence  of  the  events  which  it  professes 
to  record. 

It  is  true,  many  of  the  words  of  Jesus,  pre- 
90 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

served  by  hearsay  tradition  through  the  gen- 
eration immediately  succeeding  his  death,  have 
come  down  to  us,  probably  with  little  alteration, 
in  the  pages  of  the  three  earlier  evangelists. 
These  are  priceless  data,  since,  as  we  shall  see, 
they  are  almost  the  only  materials  at  our  com- 
mand for  forming  even  a  partial  conception  of 
the  character  of  Jesus'  work.  Nevertheless, 
even  here  the  cautious  inquirer  has  only  too 
often  to  pause  in  face  of  the  difficulty  of  dis- 
tinguishing the  authentic  utterances  of  the  great 
teacher  from  the  later  interpolations  suggested 
by  the  dogmatic  necessities  of  the  narrators. 
Bitterly  must  the  historian  regret  that  Jesus 
had  no  philosophic  disciple,  like  Xenophon,  to 
record  his  Memorabilia.  Of  the  various  writ- 
ings included  in  the  New  Testament,  the  Apo- 
calypse alone  (and  possibly  the  Epistle  of  Jude) 
is  from  the  pen  of  a  personal  acquaintance  of 
Jesus ;  and  besides  this,  the  four  epistles  of 
Paul,  to  the  Galatians,  Corinthians,  and  Ro- 
mans, make  up  the  sum  of  the  writings  from 
which  we  may  expect  contemporary  testimony. 
Yet  from  these  we  obtain  absolutely  nothing 
of  that  for  which  we  are  seeking.  The  brief 
writings  of  Paul  are  occupied  exclusively  with 
the  internal  significance  of  Jesus'  work.  The 
Epistle  of  Jude  —  if  it  be  really  written  by 
Jesus'  brother  of  that  name,  which  is  doubtful 
—  is  solely  a  polemic  directed  against  the  inno- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

vations  of  Paul.  And  the  Apocalypse,  the  work 
of  the  fiery  and  imaginative  disciple  John,  is 
confined  to  a  prophetic  description  of  the  Mes- 
siah's anticipated  return,  and  tells  us  nothing 
concerning  the  deeds  of  that  Messiah  while  on 
the  earth. 

Here  we  touch  upon  our  third  considera- 
tion, —  the  consideration  which  best  enables 
us  to  see  why  the  historic  notices  of  Jesus  are 
so  meagre.  Rightly  considered,  the  statement 
with  which  we  opened  this  article  is  its  own 
explanation.  The  Jesus  of  history  is  so  little 
known  just  because  the  Christ  of  dogma  is 
so  well  known.1  Other  teachers  —  Paul,  Mo- 
hammed, Sakyamuni  —  have  come  merely  as 
preachers  of  righteousness,  speaking  in  the 
name  of  general  principles  with  which  their 
own  personalities  were  not  directly  implicated. 
But  Jesus,  as  we  shall  see,  before  the  close  of 
his  life,  proclaimed  himself  to  be  something 
more  than  a  preacher  of  righteousness.  He 
announced  himself —  and  justly,  from  his  own 
point  of  view  —  as  the  long-expected  Messiah 
sent  by  Jehovah  to  liberate  the  Jewish  race. 
Thus  the  success  of  his  religious  teachings  be- 
came at  once  implicated  with  the  question  of 
his  personal  nature  and  character.  After  the 

1  «'  Wer  einmal  vergottert  worden  ist,  der  hat  seine 
Menschheit  unwiederbringlich  eingebiisst." — Strauss,  Der 
alte  und  der  neue  Glaube,  p.  76. 

92 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

sudden  and  violent  termination  of  his  career, 
it  immediately  became  all-important  with  his 
followers  to  prove  that  he  was  really  the  Mes- 
siah, and  to  insist  upon  the  certainty  of  his 
speedy  return  to  the  earth.  Thus  the  first  gen- 
eration of  disciples  dogmatized  about  him,  in- 
stead of  narrating  his  life,  —  a  task  which  to 
them  would  have  seemed  of  little  profit.  For 
them  the  all-absorbing  object  of  contemplation 
was  the  immediate  future  rather  than  the  im- 
mediate past.  As  all  the  earlier  Christian  litera- 
ture informs  us,  for  nearly  a  century  after  the 
death  of  Jesus,  his  followers  lived  in  daily  anti- 
cipation of  his  triumphant  return  to  the  earth. 
The  end  of  all  things  being  so  near  at  hand, 
no  attempt  was  made  to  insure  accurate  and 
complete  memoirs  for  the  use  of  a  posterity 
which  was  destined,  in  Christian  imagination, 
never  to  arrive.  The  first  Christians  wrote  but 
little  ;  even  Papias,  at  the  end  of  a  century, 
preferring  second-hand  or  third-hand  oral  tra- 
dition to  the  written  gospels  which  were  then 
beginning  to  come  into  circulation.1  Memoirs 
of  the  life  and  teachings  of  Jesus  were  called 

1  '«  Roger  was  the  attendant  of  Thomas  [Becket]  during 
his  sojourn  at  Pontigny.  We  might  have  expected  him  to  be 
very  full  on  that  part  of  his  history  ;  but,  writing  doubtless 
mainly  for  the  monks  of  Pontigny,  he  says  that  he  will  not 
enlarge  upon  what  every  one  knows,  and  cuts  that  part  very 
short."  — Freeman,  Historical  Essays,  1st  series,  p.  90. 

93 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

forth  by  the  necessity  of  having  a  written  stand- 
ard of  doctrine  to  which  to  appeal  amid  the 
growing  differences  of  opinion  which  disturbed 
the  Church.  Thus  the  earlier  gospels  exhibit, 
though  in  different  degrees,  the  indications  of 
a  modifying,  sometimes  of  an  overruling  dog- 
matic purpose.  There  is,  indeed,  no  conscious 
violation  of  historic  truth,  but  from  the  varied 
mass  of  material  supplied  by  tradition,  such  in- 
cidents are  selected  as  are  fit  to  support  the 
views  of  the  writers  concerning  the  personality 
of  Jesus.  Accordingly,  while  the  early  gospels 
throw  a  strong  light  upon  the  state  of  Christian 
opinion  at  the  dates  when  they  were  succes- 
sively composed,  the  information  which  they 
give  concerning  Jesus  himself  is,  for  that  very 
reason,  often  vague,  uncritical,  and  contradict- 
ory. Still  more  is  this  true  of  the  fourth  gospel, 
written  late  in  the  second  century,  in  which 
historic  tradition  is  moulded  in  the  interests 
of  dogma  until  it  becomes  no  longer  recogniza- 
ble, and  in  the  place  of  the  human  Messiah 
of  the  earlier  accounts,  we  have  a  semi-divine 
Logos  or  JEon,  detached  from  God,  and  incar- 
nate for  a  brief  season  in  the  likeness  of  man. 

Not  only  was  history  subordinated  to  dogma 
by  the  writers  of  the  gospel-narratives,  but  in 
the  minds  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  who 
assisted  in  determining  what  writings  should  be 
considered  canonical,  dogmatic  prepossession 
94 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

went  very  much  further  than  critical  acumen. 
Nor  is  this  strange  when  we  reflect  that  critical 
discrimination  in  questions  of  literary  authen- 
ticity is  one  of  the  latest  acquisitions  of  the 
cultivated  human  mind.  In  the  early  ages  of 
the  Church  the  evidence  of  the  genuineness  of 
any  literary  production  was  never  weighed  crit- 
ically ;  writings  containing  doctrines  acceptable 
to  the  majority  of  Christians  were  quoted  as 
authoritative,  while  writings  which  supplied  no 
dogmatic  want  were  overlooked,  or  perhaps 
condemned  as  apocryphal.  A  striking  instance 
of  this  is  furnished  by  the  fortunes  of  the  Apoc- 
alypse. Although  perhaps  the  best  authenti- 
cated work  in  the  New  Testament  collection, 
its  millenarian  doctrines  caused  it  to  become 
unpopular  as  the  Church  gradually  ceased  to 
look  for  the  speedy  return  of  the  Messiah,  and, 
accordingly,  as  the  canon  assumed  a  definite 
shape,  it  was  placed  among  the  "  Antilego- 
mena,"  or  doubtful  books,  and  continued  to 
hold  a  precarious  position  until  after  the  time 
of  the  Protestant  Reformation.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  fourth  gospel,  which  was  quite  un- 
known and  probably  did  not  exist  at  the  time 
of  the  Quartodeciman  controversy  (A.  D.  168), 
was  accepted  with  little  hesitation,  and  at  the 
beginning  of  the  third  century  is  mentioned  by 
Irenasus,  Clement,  and  Tertullian,  as  the  work 
of  the  Apostle  John.  To  this  uncritical  spirit, 

95 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

leading  to  the  neglect  of  such  books  as  failed 
to  answer  the  dogmatic  requirements  of  the 
Church,  may  probably  be  attributed  the  loss  of 
so  many  of  the  earlier  gospels.  It  is  doubtless 
for  this  reason  that  we  do  not  possess  the  Ara- 
maean original  of  the  "  Logia  "  of  Matthew,  or 
the  "  Memorabilia  "  of  Mark,  the  companion 
of  Peter,  —  two  works  to  which  Papias  (A.  D. 
120)  alludes  as  containing  authentic  reports  of 
the  utterances  of  Jesus. 

These  considerations  will,  we  believe,  suffi- 
ciently explain  the  curious  circumstance  that, 
while  we  know  the  Christ  of  dogma  so  inti- 
mately, we  know  the  Jesus  of  history  so  slightly. 
The  literature  of  early  Christianity  enables  us 
to  trace  with  tolerable  completeness  the  pro- 
gress of  opinion  concerning  the  nature  of  Jesus, 
from  the  time  of  Paul's  early  missions  to  the 
time  of  the  Nicene  Council ;  but  upon  the  ac- 
tual words  and  deeds  of  Jesus  it  throws  a  very 
unsteady  light.  The  dogmatic  purpose  every- 
where obscures  the  historic  basis. 

This  same  dogmatic  prepossession  which  has 
rendered  the  data  for  a  biography  of  Jesus  so 
scanty  and  untrustworthy,  has  also  until  com- 
paratively recent  times  prevented  any  unbiassed 
critical  examination  of  such  data  as  we  actually 
possess.  Previous  to  the  eighteenth  century 
any  attempt  to  deal  with  the  life  of  Jesus  upon 
purely  historical  methods  would  have  been  not 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

only  contemned  as  irrational,  but  stigmatized 
as  impious.  And  even  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, those  writers  who  had  become  wholly 
emancipated  from  ecclesiastic  tradition  were  so 
destitute  of  all  historic  sympathy  and  so  un- 
skilled in  scientific  methods  of  criticism,  that 
they  utterly  failed  to  comprehend  the  require- 
ments of  the  problem.  Their  aims  were  in  the 
main  polemic,  not  historical.  They  thought 
more  of  overthrowing  current  dogmas  than  of 
impartially  examining  the  earliest  Christian  lit- 
erature with  a  view  of  eliciting  its  historic  con- 
tents ;  and,  accordingly,  they  accomplished  but 
little.  Two  brilliant  exceptions  must,  however, 
be  noticed.  Spinoza,  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, and  Lessing,  in  the  eighteenth,  were  men 
far  in  advance  of  their  age.  They  are  the 
fathers  of  modern  historical  criticism  ;  and  to 
Lessing  in  particular,  with  his  enormous  erudi- 
tion and  incomparable  sagacity,  belongs  the 
honour  of  initiating  that  method  of  inquiry 
which,  in  the  hands  of  the  so-called  Tubingen 
School,  has  led  to  such  striking  and  valuable 
conclusions  concerning  the  age  and  character 
of  all  the  New  Testament  literature.  But  it 
was  long  before  any  one  could  be  found  fit  to 
bend  the  bow  which  Lessing  and  Spinoza  had 
wielded.  A  succession  of  able  scholars  —  Sem- 
ler,  Eichhorn,  Paulus,  Schleiermacher,  Bret- 
schneider,  and  De  Wette  —  were  required  to  ex- 

97 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

amine,  with  German  patience  and  accuracy,  the 
details  of  the  subject,  and  to  propound  various 
untenable  hypotheses,  before  such  a  work  could 
be  performed  as  that  of  Strauss.  The  "  Life  of 
Jesus,"  published  by  Strauss  when  only  twenty- 
six  years  of  age,  is  one  of  the  monumental 
works  of  the  nineteenth  century,  worthy  to 
rank,  as  a  historical  effort,  along  with  such 
books  as  Niebuhr's  "  History  of  Rome,"  Wolf's 
"  Prolegomena,"  or  Bentley's  "  Dissertations 
on  Phalaris."  It  instantly  superseded  and  ren- 
dered antiquated  everything  which  had  pre- 
ceded it ;  nor  has  any  work  on  early  Christian- 
ity been  written  in  Germany  for  the  past  thirty 
years  which  has  not  been  dominated  by  the 
recollection  of  that  marvellous  book.  Never- 
theless, the  labours  of  another  generation  of 
scholars  have  carried  our  knowledge  of  the  New 
Testament  literature  far  beyond  the  point  which 
it  had  reached  when  Strauss  first  wrote.  At 
that  time  the  dates  of  but  few  of  the  New  Tes- 
tament writings  had  been  fixed  with  any  ap- 
proach to  certainty ;  the  age  and  character  of 
the  fourth  gospel,  the  genuineness  of  the  Paul- 
ine epistles,  even  the  mutual  relations  of  the 
three  synoptics,  were  still  undetermined ;  and, 
as  a  natural  result  of  this  uncertainty,  the  pro- 
gress of  dogma  during  the  first  century  was  ill 
understood.  At  the  present  day  it  is  impossible 
to  read  the  early  work  of  Strauss  without  being 
98 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

impressed  with  the  necessity  of  obtaining  posi- 
tive data  as  to  the  origin  and  dogmatic  char- 
acter of  the  New  Testament  writings,  before 
attempting  to  reach  any  conclusions  as  to  the 
probable  career  of  Jesus.  These  positive  data 
we  owe  to  the  genius  and  diligence  of  the 
Tubingen  School,  and,  above  all,  to  its  founder, 
Ferdinand  Christian  Baur.  Beginning  with 
the  epistles  of  Paul,  of  which  he  distinguished 
four  as  genuine,  Baur  gradually  worked  his  way 
through  the  entire  New  Testament  collection, 
detecting — with  that  inspired  insight  which 
only  unflinching  diligence  can  impart  to  original 
genius  —  the  age  at  which  each  book  was  writ- 
ten, and  the  circumstances  which  called  it  forth. 
To  give  any  account  of  Baur's  detailed  conclu- 
sions, or  of  the  method  by  which  he  reached 
them,  would  require  a  volume.  They  are  very 
scantily  presented  in  Mr.  Mackay's  work  on 
the  "  Tubingen  School  and  its  Antecedents," 
to  which  we  may  refer  the  reader  desirous  of 
further  information.  We  can  here  merely  say 
that  twenty  years  of  energetic  controversy  have 
only  served  to  establish  most  of  Baur's  leading 
conclusions  more  firmly  than  ever.  The  pri- 
ority of  the  so-called  gospel  of  Matthew,  the 
Pauline  purpose  of  "  Luke,"  the  second  in  date 
of  our  gospels,  the  derivative  and  second-hand 
character  of"  Mark,"  and  the  unapostolic  origin 
of  the  fourth  gospel,  are  points  which  may  for 
99 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  future  be  regarded  as  well  nigh  established 
by  circumstantial  evidence.  So  with  respect  to 
the  pseudo-Pauline  epistles,  Baur's  work  was 
done  so  thoroughly  that  the  only  question  still 
left  open  for  much  discussion  is  that  concerning 
the  date  and  authorship  of  the  first  and  second 
"  Thessalonians," — a  point  of  quite  inferior 
importance,  so  far  as  our  present  subject  is  con- 
cerned. Seldom  have  such  vast  results  been 
achieved  by  the  labour  of  a  single  scholar. 
Seldom  has  any  historical  critic  possessed  such 
a  combination  of  analytic  and  of  co-ordinating 
powers  as  Baur.  His  keen  criticism  and  his 
wonderful  flashes  of  insight  exercise  upon  the 
reader  a  truly  poetic  effect  like  that  which  is 
felt  in  contemplating  the  marvels  of  physical 
discovery. 

The  comprehensive  labours  of  Baur  were  fol- 
lowed up  by  Zeller's  able  work  on  the  "  Acts 
of  the  Apostles,"  in  which  that  book  was  shown 
to  have  been  partly  founded  upon  documents 
written  by  Luke,  or  some  other  companion  of 
Paul,  and  expanded  and  modified  by  a  much 
later  writer  with  the  purpose  of  covering  up 
the  traces  of  the  early  schism  between  the  Paul- 
ine and  the  Petrine  sections  of  the  Church. 
Along  with  this,  Schwegler's  work  on  the  "  Post- 
Apostolic  Times  "  deserves  mention  as  clear- 
ing up  many  obscure  points  relating  to  the 
early  development  of  dogma.  Finally,  the 
100 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

"  New  Life  of  Jesus,"  by  Strauss,  adopting  and 
utilizing  the  principal  discoveries  of  Baur  and 
his  followers,  and  combining  all  into  one  grand 
historical  picture,  worthily  completes  the  task 
which  the  earlier  work  of  the  same  author  had 
inaugurated. 

The  reader  will  have  noticed  that,  with  the 
exception  of  Spinoza,  every  one  of  the  names 
above  cited  in  connection  with  the  literary 
analysis  and  criticism  of  the  New  Testament  is 
the  name  of  a  German.  Until  within  the  last 
decade,  Germany  has  indeed  possessed  almost 
an  absolute  monopoly  of  the  science  of  Biblical 
criticism ;  other  countries  having  remained  not 
only  unfamiliar  with  its  methods,  but  even 
grossly  ignorant  of  its  conspicuous  results,  save 
when  some  German  treatise  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary popularity  has  now  and  then  been  trans- 
lated. But  during  the  past  ten  years  France 
has  entered  the  lists;  and  the  writings  of 
Reville,  Reuss,  Nicolas,  D'Eichthal,  Scherer, 
and  Colani  testify  to  the  rapidity  with  which 
the  German  seed  has  fructified  upon  her  soil.1 

None  of  these  books,  however,  has  achieved 
such  wide-spread  celebrity,  or  done  so  much 
towards  interesting  the  general  public  in  this 
class  of  historical  inquiries,  as  the  "  Life  of 

1  But  now,  in  annexing  Alsace,  Germany  has  "  annexed  " 
pretty  much  the  whole  of  this  department  of  French  scholar- 
ship, —  a  curious  incidental  consequence  of  the  late  war. 
101 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Jesus,"  by  Renan.  This  pre-eminence  of  fame 
is  partly,  but  not  wholly,  deserved.  From  a 
purely  literary  point  of  view,  Kenan's  work 
doubtless  merits  all  the  celebrity  it  has  gained. 
Its  author  writes  a  style  such  as  is  perhaps  sur- 
passed by  that  of  no  other  living  Frenchman. 
It  is  by  far  the  most  readable  book  which  has 
ever  been  written  concerning  the  life  of  Jesus. 
And  no  doubt  some  of  its  popularity  is  due  to 
its  very  faults,  which,  from  a  critical  point  of 
view,  are  neither  few  nor  small.  For  Renan  is 
certainly  very  faulty,  as  a  historical  critic,  when 
he  practically  ignores  the  extreme  meagreness 
of  our  positive  knowledge  of  the  career  of  Jesus, 
and  describes  scene  after  scene  in  his  life  as 
minutely  and  with  as  much  confidence  as  if  he 
had  himself  been  present  to  witness  it  all.  Again 
and  again  the  critical  reader  feels  prompted  to 
ask,  How  do  you  know  all  this  ?  or  why,  out 
of  two  or  three  conflicting  accounts,  do  you 
quietly  adopt  some  particular  one,  as  if  its 
superior  authority  were  self-evident?  But  in 
the  eye  of  the  uncritical  reader,  these  defects 
are  excellences  ;  for  it  is  unpleasant  to  be  kept 
in  ignorance  when  we  are  seeking  after  definite 
knowledge,  and  it  is  disheartening  to  read  page 
after  page  of  an  elaborate  discussion  which  ends 
in  convincing  us  that  definite  knowledge  cannot 
be  gained. 

In  the    thirteenth   edition  of  the  "  Vie  de 
1 02 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

Jesus,"  Renan  has  corrected  some  of  the  most 
striking  errors  of  the  original  work,  and  in  par- 
ticular has,  with  praiseworthy  candour,  aban- 
doned his  untenable  position  with  regard  to  the 
age  and  character  of  the  fourth  gospel.  As  is 
well  known,  Renan,  in  his  earlier  editions,  as- 
cribed to  this  gospel  a  historical  value  superior 
to  that  of  the  synoptics,  believing  it  to  have 
been  written  by  an  eye-witness  of  the  events 
which  it  relates ;  and  from  this  source,  accord- 
ingly, he  drew  the  larger  share  of  his  materials. 
Now,  if  there  is  any  one  conclusion  concerning 
the  New  Testament  literature  which  must  be 
regarded  as  incontrovertibly  established  by  the 
labours  of  a  whole  generation  of  scholars,  it  is 
this,  that  the  fourth  gospel  was  utterly  unknown 
until  about  A.  D.  170,  that  it  was  written  by 
some  one  who  possessed  very  little  direct  know- 
ledge of  Palestine,  that  its  purpose  was  rather 
to  expound  a  dogma  than  to  give  an  accurate 
record  of  events,  and  that  as  a  guide  to  the 
comprehension  of  the  career  of  Jesus  it  is  of 
far  less  value  than  the  three  synoptic  gospels. 
It  is  impossible,  in  a  brief  review  like  the  pre- 
sent, to  epitomize  the  evidence  upon  which  this 
conclusion  rests,  which  may  more  profitably  be 
sought  in  the  Rev.  J.  J.  Tayler's  work  on  "  The 
Fourth  Gospel,"  or  in  Davidson's  "  Introduc- 
tion to  the  New  Testament."  It  must  suffice 
to  mention  that  this  gospel  is  not  cited  by 
103 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Papias  ;  that  Justin,  Marcion,  and  Valentinus 
make  no  allusion  to  it,  though,  since  it  furnishes 
so  much  that  is  germane  to  their  views,  they 
would  gladly  have  appealed  to  it,  had  it  been 
in  existence,  when  those  views  were  as  yet  under 
discussion  ;  and  that,  finally,  in  the  great  Quar- 
todeciman  controversy,  A.  D.  168,  the  gospel 
is  not  only  not  mentioned,  but  the  authority  of 
John  is  cited  by  Polycarp  in  flat  contradiction 
of  the  view  afterwards  taken  by  this  evangelist. 
Still  more,  the  assumption  of  Renan  led  at 
once  into  complicated  difficulties  with  reference 
to  the  Apocalypse.  The  fourth  gospel,  if  it 
does  not  unmistakably  announce  itself  as  the 
work  of  John,  at  least  professes  to  be  Johannine ; 
and  it  cannot  for  a  moment  be  supposed  that 
such  a  book,  making  such  claims,  could  have 
gained  currency  during  John's  lifetime  without 
calling  forth  his  indignant  protest.  For,  in 
reality,  no  book  in  the  New  Testament  collec- 
tion would  so  completely  have  shocked  the 
prejudices  of  the  Johannine  party.  John's  own 
views  are  well  known  to  us  from  the  Apocalypse. 
John  was  the  most  enthusiastic  of  millenarians 
and  the  most  narrow  and  rigid  of  Judaizers. 
In  his  antagonism  to  the  Pauline  innovations 
he  went  farther  than  Peter  himself.  Intense 
hatred  of  Paul  and  his  followers  appears  in  sev- 
eral passages  of  the  Apocalypse,  where  they  are 
stigmatized  as  "  Nicolaitans,"  "  deceivers  of  the 
104 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

people,"  "  those  who  say  they  are  apostles  and 
are  not,"  "  eaters  of  meat  offered  to  idols," 
"  fornicators,"  "  pretended  Jews,"  "  liars," 
"  synagogue  of  Satan,"  etc.  (chap.  ii.).  On  the 
other  hand,  the  fourth  gospel  contains  nothing 
millenarian  or  Judaical ;  it  carries  Pauline  uni- 
versalism  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  Paul 
himself  ventured  to  carry  it,  even  condemning 
the  Jews  as  children  of  darkness,  and  by  impli- 
cation contrasting  them  unfavourably  with  the 
Gentiles  ;  and  it  contains  a  theory  of  the  nature 
of  Jesus  which  the  Ebionitish  Christians,  to 
whom  John  belonged,  rejected  to  the  last. 

In  his  present  edition  Renan  admits  the  in- 
superable force  of  these  objections,  and  aban- 
dons his  theory  of  the  apostolic  origin  of  the 
fourth  gospel.  And  as  this  has  necessitated  the 
omission  or  alteration  of  all  such  passages  as 
rested  upon  the  authority  of  that  gospel,  the 
book  is  to  a  considerable  extent  rewritten,  and 
the  changes  are  such  as  greatly  to  increase  its 
value  as  a  history  of  Jesus.  Nevertheless,  the 
author  has  so  long  been  in  the  habit  of  shaping 
his  conceptions  of  the  career  of  Jesus  by  the  aid 
of  the  fourth  gospel,  that  it  has  become  very 
difficult  for  him  to  pass  freely  to  another  point 
of  view.  He  still  clings  to  the  hypothesis  that 
there  is  an  element  of  historic  tradition  contained 
in  the  book,  drawn  from  memorial  writings 
which  had  perhaps  been  handed  down  from 
105 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

John,  and  which  were  inaccessible  to  the  syn- 
optists.  In  a  very  interesting  appendix,  he  col- 
lects the  evidence  in  favour  of  this  hypothesis, 
which  indeed  is  not  without  plausibility,  since 
there  is  every  reason  for  supposing  that  the 
gospel  was  written  at  Ephesus,  which  a  century 
before  had  been  John's  place  of  residence.  But 
even  granting  most  of  Renan's  assumptions,  it 
must  still  follow  that  the  authority  of  this  gos- 
pel is  far  inferior  to  that  of  the  synoptics,  and 
can  in  no  case  be  very  confidently  appealed  to. 
The  question  is  one  of  the  first  importance  to 
the  historian  of  early  Christianity.  In  inquiring 
into  the  life  of  Jesus,  the  very  first  thing  to  do 
is  to  establish  firmly  in  the  mind  the  true  rela- 
tions of  the  fourth  gospel  to  the  first  three. 
Until  this  has  been  done,  no  one  is  competent 
to  write  on  the  subject ;  and  it  is  because  he  has 
done  this  so  imperfectly,  that  Renan's  work  is, 
from  a  critical  point  of  view,  so  imperfectly 
successful. 

The  anonymous  work  entitled  "  The  Jesus 
of  History,"  which  we  have  placed  at  the  head 
of  this  article,  is  in  every  respect  noteworthy  as 
the  first  systematic  attempt  made  in  England 
to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  German  criticism 
in  writing  a  life  of  Jesus.  We  know  of  no  good 
reason  why  the  book  should  be  published  an- 
onymously;  for  as  a  historical  essay  it  possesses 
extraordinary  merit,  and  does  great  credit  not 
1 06 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

only  to  its  author,  but  to  English  scholarship 
and  acumen.1  It  is  not,  indeed,  a  book  calcu- 
lated to  captivate  the  imagination  of  the  reading 
public.  Though  written  in  a  clear,  forcible,  and 
often  elegant  style,  it  possesses  no  such  wonder- 
ful rhetorical  charm  as  the  work  of  Renan  ;  and 
it  will  probably  never  find  half  a  dozen  readers 
where  the  "  Vie  de  Jesus  "  has  found  a  hundred. 
But  the  success  of  a  book  of  this  sort  is  not  to 
be  measured  by  its  rhetorical  excellence,  or  by 
its  adaptation  to  the  literary  tastes  of  an  uncrit- 
ical and  uninstructed  public,  but  rather  by  the 
amount  of  critical  sagacity  which  it  brings  to 
bear  upon  the  elucidation  of  the  many  difficult 
and  disputed  points  in  the  subject  of  which  it 
treats.  Measured  by  this  standard,  "  The  Jesus 
of  History  "  must  rank  very  high  indeed.  To 
say  that  it  throws  more  light  upon  the  career  of 
Jesus  than  any  work  which  has  ever  before  been 
written  in  English  would  be  very  inadequate 
praise,  since  the  English  language  has  been 
singularly  deficient  in  this  branch  of  historical 
literature.  We  shall  convey  a  more  just  idea  of 
its  merits  if  we  say  that  it  will  bear  comparison 
with  anything  which  even  Germany  has  pro- 
duced, save  only  the  works  of  Strauss,  Baur, 
and  Zeller. 

The  fitness  of  our  author  for  the  task  which 

1    The  Jesus  of  History  is  now  known  to  have  been  written 
by  Sir  Richard  Hanson,  Chief  Jusdce  of  South  Australia. 
107 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

he  has  undertaken  is  shown  at  the  outset  by  his 
choice  of  materials.  In  basing  his  conclusions  al- 
most exclusively  upon  the  statements  contained 
in  the  first  gospel,  he  is  upheld  by  every  sound 
principle  of  criticism.  The  times  and  places  at 
which  our  three  synoptic  gospels  were  written 
have  been,  through  the  labours  of  the  Tubingen 
critics,  determined  almost  to  a  certainty.  Of  the 
three,  "  Mark  "  is  unquestionably  the  latest ; 
with  the  exception  of  about  twenty  verses,  it 
is  entirely  made  up  from  "  Matthew "  and 
"  Luke,"  the  diverse  Petrine  and  Pauline  ten- 
dencies of  which  it  strives  to  neutralize  in  con- 
formity to  the  conciliatory  disposition  of  the 
Church  at  Rome,  at  the  epoch  at  which  this 
gospel  was  written,  about  A.  D.  130.  The  third 
gospel  was  also  written  at  Rome,  some  fifteen 
years  earlier.  In  the  preface,  its  author  describes 
it  as  a  compilation  from  previously  existing 
written  materials.  Among  these  materials  was 
certainly  the  first  gospel,  several  passages  of 
which  are  adopted  word  for  word  by  the  author 
of  "  Luke."  Yet  the  narrative  varies  materially 
from  that  of  the  first  gospel  in  many  essential 
points.  The  arrangement  of  events  is  less  nat- 
ural, and,  as  in  the  "Acts  of  the  Apostles,"  by 
the  same  author,  there  is  apparent  throughout 
the  design  of  suppressing  the  old  discord  be- 
tween Paul  and  the  Judaizing  disciples,  and  of 
representing  Christianity  as  essentially  Pauline 
108 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

from  the  outset.  How  far  Paul  was  correct  in 
his  interpretation  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus,  it  is 
difficult  to  decide.  It  is,  no  doubt,  possible  that 
the  first  gospel  may  have  lent  to  the  words  of 
Jesus  an  Ebionite  colouring  in  some  instances, 
and  that  now  and  then  the  third  gospel  may 
present  us  with  a  truer  account.  To  this  su- 
premely important  point  we  shall  by  and  by 
return.  For  the  present  it  must  suffice  to  ob- 
serve that  the  evidences  of  an  overruling  dog- 
matic purpose  are  generally  much  more  con- 
spicuous in  the  third  synoptist  than  in  the  first ; 
and  that  the  very  loose  manner  in  which  this 
writer  has  handled  his  materials  in  the  "Acts" 
is  not  calculated  to  inspire  us  with  confidence 
in  the  historical  accuracy  of  his  gospel.  The 
writer  who,  in  spite  of  the  direct  testimony  of 
Paul  himself,  could  represent  the  apostle  to  the 
Gentiles  as  acting  under  the  direction  of  the  dis- 
ciples at  Jerusalem,  and  who  puts  Pauline  senti- 
ments into  the  mouth  of  Peter,  would  certainly 
have  been  capable  of  unwarrantably  giving  a 
Pauline  turn  to  the  teachings  of  Jesus  himself. 
We  are  therefore,  as  a  last  resort,  brought  back 
to  the  first  gospel,  which  we  find  to  possess,  as 
a  historical  narrative,  far  stronger  claims  upon 
our  attention  than  the  second  and  third.  In  all 
probability  it  had  assumed  nearly  its  present 
shape  before  A.  D.  100  ;  its  origin  is  unmistak- 
ably Palestinian ;  it  betrays  comparatively  few 
109 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

indications  of  dogmatic  purpose  ;  and  there  are 
strong  reasons  for  believing  that  the  speeches 
of  Jesus  recorded  in  it  are  in  substance  taken 
from  the  genuine  "  Logia  "  of  Matthew  men- 
tioned by  Papias,  which  must  have  been  written 
as  early  as  A.  D.  60-70,  before  the  destruction 
of  Jerusalem.  Indeed,  we  are  inclined  to  agree 
with  our  author  that  the  gospel,  even  in  its  pre- 
sent shape  (save  only  a  few  interpolated  pas- 
sages), may  have  existed  as  early  as  A.  D.  80, 
since  it  places  the  time  of  Jesus'  second  coming 
immediately  after  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  ; 
whereas  the  third  evangelist,  who  wrote  forty- 
five  years  after  that  event,  is  careful  to  tell  us, 
"  The  end  is  not  immediately."  Moreover,  it 
must  have  been  written  while  the  Paulo-Petrine 
controversy  was  still  raging,  as  is  shown  by  the 
parable  of  the  "  enemy  who  sowed  the  tares," 
which  manifestly  refers  to  Paul,  and  also  by  the 
allusions  to  "  false  prophets  "  (vii.  15),  to  those 
who  say  "  Lord,  Lord,"  and  who  "  cast  out 
demons  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  "  (vii.  21-23), 
teaching  men  to  break  the  commandments  (v. 
17—20).  There  is,  therefore,  good  reason  for 
believing  that  we  have  here  a  narrative  written 
not  much  more  than  fifty  years  after  the  death 
of  Jesus,  based  partly  upon  the  written  memori- 
als of  an  apostle,  and  in  the  main  trustworthy, 
save  where  it  relates  occurrences  of  a  marvellous 
and  legendary  character.  Such  is  our  author's 
no 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

conclusion,  and  in  describing  the  career  of  the 
Jesus  of  history,  he  relies  almost  exclusively 
upon  the  statements  contained  in  the  first  gos- 
pel. Let  us  now,  after  this  long  but  inadequate 
introduction,  give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  life  of 
Jesus,  as  it  is  to  be  found  in  our  author. 

Concerning  the  time  and  place  of  the  birth  of 
Jesus,  we  know  next  to  nothing.  According  to 
uniform  tradition,  based  upon  a  statement  of  the 
third  gospel,  he  was  about  thirty  years  of  age 
at  the  time  when  he  began  teaching.  The  same 
gospel  states,  with  elaborate  precision,  that  the 
public  career  of  John  the  Baptist  began  in  the 
fifteenth  year  of  Tiberius,  or  A.  D.  28.  In  the 
winter  of  A.  D.  35-36,  Pontius  Pilate  was  re- 
called from  Judaea,  so  that  the  crucifixion  could 
not  have  taken  place  later  than  in  the  spring  of 
35.  Thus  we  have  a  period  of  about  six  years 
during  which  the  ministry  of  Jesus  must  have 
begun  and  ended ;  and  if  the  tradition  with  re- 
spect to  his  age  be  trustworthy,  we  shall  not  be 
far  out  of  the  way  in  supposing  him  to  have 
been  born  somewhere  between  B.  c.  5  and  A.  D.  5. 
He  is  everywhere  alluded  to  in  the  gospels  as 
Jesus  of  Nazareth  in  Galilee,  where  lived  also 
his  father,  mother,  brothers,  and  sisters,  and 
where  very  likely  he  was  born.  His  parents' 
names  are  said  to  have  been  Joseph  and  Mary. 
His  own  name  is  a  Hellenized  form  of  Joshua, 
in 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

a  name  very  common  among  the  Jews.  Accord- 
ing to  the  first  gospel  (xiii.  55),  he  had  four 
brothers,  —  Joseph  and  Simon  ;  James,  who 
was  afterwards  one  of  the  heads  of  the  church 
at  Jerusalem,  and  the  most  formidable  enemy 
of  Paul ;  and  Judas  or  Jude,  who  is  perhaps 
the  author  of  the  anti-Pauline  epistle  commonly 
ascribed  to  him. 

Of  the  early  youth  of  Jesus,  and  of  the  cir- 
cumstances which  guided  his  intellectual  devel- 
opment, we  know  absolutely  nothing,  nor  have 
we  the  data  requisite  for  forming  any  plausible 
hypothesis.  He  first  appears  in  history  about 
A.  D.  29  or  30,  in  connection  with  a  very  re- 
markable person  whom  the  third  evangelist  de- 
scribes as  his  cousin,  and  who  seems,  from  his 
mode  of  life,  to  have  been  in  some  way  con- 
nected with  or  influenced  by  the  Hellenizing 
sect  of  Essenes.  Here  we  obtain  our  first  clue 
to  guide  us  in  forming  a  consecutive  theory  of 
the  development  of  Jesus'  opinions.  The  sect 
of  Essenes  took  its  rise  in  the  time  of  the  Mac- 
cabees, about  B.  c.  170.  Upon  the  fundamental 
doctrines  of  Judaism  it  had  engrafted  many 
Pythagorean  notions,  and  was  doubtless  in  the 
time  of  Jesus  instrumental  in  spreading  Greek 
ideas  among  the  people  of  Galilee,  where  Juda- 
ism was  far  from  being  so  narrow  and  rigid  as 
at  Jerusalem.  The  Essenes  attached  but  little 
importance  to  the  Messianic  expectations  of  the 
112 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

Pharisees,  and  mingled  scarcely  at  all  in  national 
politics.  They  lived  for  the  most  part  a  strictly 
ascetic  life,  being  indeed  the  legitimate  prede- 
cessors of  the  early  Christian  hermits  and  monks. 
But  while  pre-eminent  for  sanctity  of  life,  they 
heaped  ridicule  upon  the  entire  sacrificial  service 
of  the  Temple,  despised  the  Pharisees  as  hypo- 
crites, and  insisted  upon  charity  towards  all  men 
instead  of  the  old  Jewish  exclusiveness. 

It  was  once  a  favourite  theory  that  both  John 
the  Baptist  and  Jesus  were  members  of  the  Esse- 
nian  brotherhood  ;  but  that  theory  is  now  gen- 
erally abandoned.  Whatever  may  have  been  the 
case  with  John,  who  is  said  to  have  lived  like 
an  anchorite  in  the  desert,  there  seems  to  have 
been  but  little  practical  Essenism  in  Jesus,  who 
is  almost  uniformly  represented  as  cheerful  and 
social  in  demeanour,  and  against  whom  it  was 
expressly  urged  that  he  came  eating  and  drink- 
ing, making  no  pretence  of  puritanical  holiness. 
He  was  neither  a  puritan,  like  the  Essenes,  nor 
a  ritualist,  like  the  Pharisees.  Besides  which, 
both  John  and  Jesus  seem  to  have  begun  their 
careers  by  preaching  the  un-Essene  doctrine  of 
the  speedy  advent  of  the  "  kingdom  of  heaven," 
by  which  is  meant  the  reign  of  the  Messiah 
upon  the  earth.  Nevertheless,  though  we  cannot 
regard  Jesus  as  actually  a  member  of  the  Esse- 
nian  community  or  sect,  we  can  hardly  avoid  the 
conclusion  that  he,  as  well  as  John  the  Baptist, 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

had  been  at  some  time  strongly  influenced  by 
Essenian  doctrines.  The  spiritualized  concep- 
tion of  the  "  kingdom  of  heaven  "  proclaimed 
by  him  was  just  what  would  naturally  and  logi- 
cally arise  from  a  remodelling  of  the  Messianic 
theories  of  the  Pharisees  in  conformity  to  ad- 
vanced Essenian  notions.  It  seems  highly  prob- 
able that  some  such  refined  conception  of  the 
functions  of  the  Messiah  was  reached  by  John, 
who,  stigmatizing  the  Pharisees  and  Sadducees 
as  a  "  generation  of  vipers,"  called  aloud  to  the 
people  to  repent  of  their  sins,  in  view  of  the 
speedy  advent  of  the  Messiah,  and  to  testify  to 
their  repentance  by  submitting  to  the  Essenian 
rite  of  baptism.  There  is  no  positive  evidence 
that  Jesus  was  ever  a  disciple  of  John  ;  yet  the 
account  of  the  baptism,  in  spite  of  the  legendary 
character  of  its  details,  seems  to  rest  upon  a  his- 
torical basis  ;  and  perhaps  the  most  plausible 
hypothesis  which  can  be  framed  is,  that  Jesus 
received  baptism  at  John's  hands,  became  fora 
while  his  disciple,  and  acquired  from  him  a  know- 
ledge of  Essenian  doctrines. 

The  career  of  John  seems  to  have  been  very 
brief.  His  stern  puritanism  brought  him  soon 
into  disgrace  with  the  government  of  Galilee. 
He  was  seized  by  Herod,  thrown  into  prison, 
and  beheaded.  After  the  brief  hints  given  as  to 
the  intercourse  between  Jesus  and  John,  we  next 
hear  of  Jesus  alone  in  the  desert,  where,  like 
114 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

Sakyamuni  and  Mohammed,  he  may  have 
brooded  in  solitude  over  his  great  project.  Yet 
we  do  not  find  that  he  had  as  yet  formed  any 
distinct  conception  of  his  own  Messiahship. 
The  totaJ  neglect  of  chronology  by  our  authori- 
ties *  renders  it  impossible  to  trace  the  develop- 
ment of  his  thoughts  step  by  step  ;  but  for  some 
time  after  John's  catastrophe  we  find  him  calling 
upon  the  people  to  repent,  in  view  of  the  speedy 
approach  of  the  Messiah,  speaking  with  great 
and  commanding  personal  authority,  but  using 
no  language  which  would  indicate  that  he  was 
striving  to  do  more  than  worthily  fill  the  place 
and  add  to  the  good  work  of  his  late  master. 
The  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  which  the  first  gos- 
pel inserts  in  this  place,  was  perhaps  never 
spoken  as  a  continuous  discourse ;  but  it  no 
doubt  for  the  most  part  contains  the  very  words 
of  Jesus,  and  represents  the  general  spirit  of  his 
teaching  during  this  earlier  portion  of  his  career. 
In  this  is  contained  nearly  all  that  has  made 
Christianity  so  powerful  in  the  domain  of  ethics. 
If  all  the  rest  of  the  gospel  were  taken  away, 
or  destroyed  in  the  night  of  some  future  barba- 

1  "  The  biographers  [of  Becket]  are  commonly  rather 
careless  as  to  the  order  of  time.  Each  .  .  .  recorded  what 
struck  him  most  or  what  he  best  knew  ;  one  set  down  one 
event  and  another  another  ;  and  none  of  them  paid  much  re- 
gard to  the  order  of  details."  — Freeman,  Historical  Essays, 
1st  series,  p.  94. 

"5 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

rian  invasion,  we  should  still  here  possess  the 
secret  of  the  wonderful  impression  which  Jesus 
made  upon  those  who  heard  him  speak.  Added 
to  the  Essenian  scorn  of  Pharisaic  formalism, 
and  the  spiritualized  conception  of  the  Messi- 
anic kingdom,  which  Jesus  may  probably  have 
shared  with  John  the  Baptist,  we  have  here  for 
the  first  time  the  distinctively  Christian  concep- 
tion of  the  fatherhood  of  God  and  the  brother- 
hood of  men,  which  ultimately  insured  the  suc- 
cess of  the  new  religion.  The  special  point  of 
originality  in  Jesus  was  his  conception  of  Deity. 
As  Strauss  well  says,  "  He  conceived  of  God, 
in  a  moral  point  of  view,  as  being  identical  in 
character  with  himself  in  the  most  exalted  mo- 
ments of  his  religious  life,  and  strengthened  in 
turn  his  own  religious  life  by  this  ideal.  But 
the  most  exalted  religious  tendency  in  his  own 
consciousness  was  exactly  that  comprehensive 
love,  overpowering  the  evil  only  by  the  good, 
which  he  therefore  transferred  to  God  as  the 
fundamental  tendency  of  His  nature."  From 
this  conception  of  God,  observes  Zeller,  flowed 
naturally  all  the  moral  teaching  of  Jesus,  the  in- 
sistence upon  spiritual  righteousness  instead  of 
the  mere  mechanical  observance  of  Mosaic  pre- 
cepts, the  call  to  be  perfect  even  as  the  Father 
is  perfect,  the  principle  of  the  spiritual  equality 
of  men  before  God,  and  the  equal  duties  of  all 
men  towards  each  other. 
116 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

How  far,  in  addition  to  these  vitally  impor- 
tant lessons,  Jesus  may  have  taught  doctrines 
of  an  ephemeral  or  visionary  character,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  decide.  We  are  inclined  to  regard 
the  third  gospel  as  of  some  importance  in 
settling  this  point.  The  author  of  that  gospel 
represents  Jesus  as  decidedly  hostile  to  the  rich. 
Where  Matthew  has  "  Blessed  are  the  poor  in 
spirit,"  Luke  has  "  Blessed  are  ye  poor."  In 
the  first  gospel  we  read,  "  Blessed  are  they  who 
hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they 
will  be  filled  ;  "  but  in  the  third  gospel  we  find, 
"  Blessed  are  ye  that  hunger  now,  for  ye  will  be 
filled ;  "  and  this  assurance  is  immediately  fol- 
lowed by  the  denunciation,  "  Woe  to  you  that 
are  rich,  for  ye  have  received  your  consolation  ! 
Woe  to  you  that  are  full  now,  for  ye  will  hun- 
ger." The  parable  of  Dives  and  Lazarus  illus- 
trates concretely  this  view  of  the  case,  which  is 
still  further  corroborated  by  the  account,  given 
in  both  the  first  and  the  third  gospels,  of  the 
youhg  man  who  came  to  seek  everlasting  life. 
Jesus  here  maintains  that  righteousness  is  insuf- 
ficient unless  voluntary  poverty  be  superadded. 
Though  the  young  man  has  strictly  fulfilled  the 
greatest  of  the  commandments,  —  to  love  his 
neighbour  as  himself,  —  he  is  required,  as  a 
needful  proof  of  his  sincerity,  to  distribute  all 
his  vast  possessions  among  the  poor.  And 
when  he  naturally  manifests  a  reluctance  to 
117 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

perform  so  superfluous  a  sacrifice,  Jesus  ob- 
serves that  it  will  be  easier  for  a  camel  to  go 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man 
to  share  in  the  glories  of  the  anticipated  Mes- 
sianic kingdom.  It  is  difficult  to  escape  the  con- 
clusion that  we  have  here  a  very  primitive  and 
probably  authentic  tradition  ;  and  when  we  re- 
member the  importance  which,  according  to  the 
"  Acts,"  the  earliest  disciples  attached  to  the 
principle  of  communism,  as  illustrated  in  the  le- 
gend of  Ananias  and  Sapphira,  we  must  admit 
strong  reasons  for  believing  that  Jesus  himself 
held  views  which  tended  towards  the  abolition 
of  private  property.  On  this  point,  the  testi- 
mony of  the  third  evangelist  singly  is  of  con- 
siderable weight ;  since  at  the  time  when  he 
wrote,  the  communistic  theories  of  the  first 
generation  of  Christians  had  been  generally 
abandoned,  and  in  the  absence  of  any  dogmatic 
motives,  he  could  only  have  inserted  these  par- 
ticular traditions  because  he  believed  them  to 
possess  historical  value.  But  we  are  not  depen- 
dent on  the  third  gospel  alone.  The  story  just 
cited  is  attested  by  both  our  authorities,  and  is 
in  perfect  keeping  with  the  general  views  of 
Jesus  as  reported  by  the  first  evangelist.  Thus 
his  disciples  are  enjoined  to  leave  all,  and  follow 
him ;  to  take  no  thought  for  the  morrow ;  to 
think  no  more  of  laying  up  treasures  on  the 
earth,  for  in  the  Messianic  kingdom  they  shall 
118 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

have  treasures  in  abundance,  which  can  neither 
be  wasted  nor  stolen.  On  making  their  jour- 
neys, they  are  to  provide  neither  money,  nor 
clothes,  nor  food,  but  are  to  live  at  the  expense 
of  those  whom  they  visit ;  and  if  any  town  re- 
fuse to  harbour  them,  the  Messiah,  on  his  ar- 
rival, will  deal  with  that  town  more  severely 
than  Jehovah  dealt  with  the  cities  of  the  plain. 
Indeed,  since  the  end  of  the  world  was  to  come 
before  the  end  of  the  generation  then  living 
(Matt.  xxiv.  34;  i  Cor.  xv.  51-56,  vii.  29), 
there  could  be  no  need  for  acquiring  property 
or  making  arrangements  for  the  future ;  even 
marriage  became  unnecessary.  These  teachings 
of  Jesus  have  a  marked  Essenian  character,  as 
well  as  his  declaration  that  in  the  Messianic 
kingdom  there  was  to  be  no  more  marriage, 
perhaps  no  distinction  of  sex  (Matt.  xxii.  30). 
The  sect  of  Ebionites,  who  represented  the  ear- 
liest doctrine  and  practice  of  Christianity  before 
it  had  been  modified  by  Paul,  differed  from 
the  Essenes  in  no  essential  respect  save  in  the 
acknowledgment  of  Jesus  as  the  Messiah,  and 
the  expectation  of  his  speedy  return  to  the 
earth. 

How  long,  or  with  what  success,  Jesus  con- 
tinued to  preach  the  coming  of  the  Messiah 
in  Galilee,  it  is  impossible  to  conjecture.  His 
fellow-townsmen  of  Nazareth  appear  to  have 
ridiculed  him  in  his  prophetical  capacity ;  or,  if 
119 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

we  may  trust  the  third  evangelist,  to  have  arisen 
against  him  with  indignation,  and  made  an  at- 
tempt upon  his  life.  To  them  he  was  but  a  car- 
penter, the  son  of  a  carpenter  (Matt.  xiii.  55  ; 
Markvi.  3),  who  told  them  disagreeable  truths. 
Our  author  represents  his  teaching  in  Galilee  to 
have  produced  but  little  result,  but  the  gospel 
narratives  afford  no  definite  data  for  deciding 
this  point.  We  believe  the  most  probable  con- 
clusion to  be  that  Jesus  did  attract  many  fol- 
lowers, and  became  famous  throughout  Galilee  ; 
for  Herod  is  said  to  have  regarded  him  as  John 
the  Baptist  risen  from  the  grave.  To  escape  the 
malice  of  Herod,  Jesus  then  retired  to  Syro- 
Phoenicia,  and  during  this  eventful  journey  the 
consciousness  of  his  own  Messiahship  seems  for 
the  first  time  to  have  distinctly  dawned  upon 
him  (Matt.  xiv.  I,  13;  xv.  21  ;  xvi.  13-20). 
Already,  it  appears,  speculations  were  rife  as  to 
the  character  of  this  wonderful  preacher.  Some 
thought  he  was  John  the  Baptist,  or  perhaps  one 
of  the  prophets  of  the  Assyrian  period  returned 
to  the  earth.  Some,  in  accordance  with  a  gen- 
erally received  tradition,  supposed  him  to  be 
Elijah,  who  had  never  seen  death,  and  had  now 
at  last  returned  from  the  regions  above  the  fir- 
mament to  announce  the  coming  of  the  Messiah 
in  the  clouds.  It  was  generally  admitted,  among 
enthusiastic  hearers,  that  he  who  spake  as  never 
man  spake  before  must  have  some  divine  com- 
120 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

mission  to  execute.  These  speculations,  coming 
to  the  ears  of  Jesus  during  his  preaching  in  Gali- 
lee, could  not  fail  to  excite  in  him  a  train  of 
self-conscious  reflections.  To  him  also  must 
have  been  presented  the  query  as  to  his  own 
proper  character  and  functions  ;  and,  as  our 
author  acutely  demonstrates,  his  only  choice  lay 
between  a  profitless  life  of  exile  in  Syro-Phoeni- 
cia,  and  a  bold  return  to  Jewish  territory  in 
some  pronounced  character.  The  problem  be- 
ing thus  propounded,  there  could  hardly  be  a 
doubt  as  to  what  that  character  should  be.  Jesus 
knew  well  that  he  was  not  John  the  Baptist ; 
nor,  however  completely  he  may  have  been 
dominated  by  his  sublime  enthusiasm,  was  it 
likely  that  he  could  mistake  himself  for  an 
ancient  prophet  arisen  from  the  lower  world  of 
shades,  or  for  Elijah  descended  from  the  sky. 
But  the  Messiah  himself  he  might  well  be. 
Such  indeed  was  the  almost  inevitable  corollary 
from  his  own  conception  of  Messiahship.  We 
have  seen  that  he  had,  probably  from  the  very 
outset,  discarded  the  traditional  notion  of  a 
political  Messiah,  and  recognized  the  truth  that 
the  happiness  of  a  people  lies  not  so  much  in 
political  autonomy  as  in  the  love  of  God  and 
the  sincere  practice  of  righteousness.  The  peo- 
ple were  to  be  freed  from  the  bondage  of  sin, 
of  meaningless  formalism,  of  consecrated  hy- 
pocrisy, —  a  bondage  more  degrading  than  the 

121 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

payment  of  tribute  to  the  emperor.  The  true 
business  of  the  Messiah,  then,  was  to  deliver  his 
people  from  the  former  bondage ;  it  might  be 
left  to  Jehovah,  in  his  own  good  time,  to  deliver 
them  from  the  latter.  Holding  these  views,  it 
was  hardly  possible  that  it  should  not  sooner  or 
later  occur  to  Jesus  that  he  himself  was  the  per- 
son destined  to  discharge  this  glorious  function, 
to  liberate  his  countrymen  from  the  thraldom 
of  Pharisaic  ritualism,  and  to  inaugurate  the  real 
Messianic  kingdom  of  spiritual  righteousness. 
Had  he  not  already  preached  the  advent  of  this 
spiritual  kingdom,  and  been  instrumental  in  rais- 
ing many  to  loftier  conceptions  of  duty,  and  to 
a  higher  and  purer  life  ?  And  might  he  not  now, 
by  a  grand  attack  upon  Pharisaism  in  its  central 
stronghold,  destroy  its  prestige  in  the  eyes  of 
the  people,  and  cause  Israel  to  adopt  a  nobler 
religious  and  ethical  doctrine  ?  The  temerity 
of  such  a  purpose  detracts  nothing  from  its  sub- 
limity. And  if  that  purpose  should  be  accom- 
plished, Jesus  would,  really  have  performed  the 
legitimate  work  of  the  Messiah.  Thus,  from  his 
own  point  of  view,  Jesus  was  thoroughly  con- 
sistent and  rational  in  announcing  himself  as  the 
expected  Deliverer;  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  im- 
partial historian  his  course  is  fully  justified. 

"  From  that  time,"  says  the  first  evangelist, 
"Jesus  began  to  show  to  his  disciples  that  he 
must  go  to  Jerusalem,  and  suffer  many  things 

122 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

from  the  elders  and  chief  priests  and  scribes, 
and  be  put  to  death,  and  rise  again  on  the 
third  day."  Here  we  have,  obviously,  the 
knowledge  of  the  writer,  after  the  event,  re- 
flected back  and  attributed  to  Jesus.  It  is  of 
course  impossible  that  Jesus  should  have  pre- 
dicted with  such  definiteness  his  approaching 
death  ;  nor  is  it  very  likely  that  he  entertained 
any  hope  of  being  raised  from  the  grave  "  on 
the  third  day."  To  a  man  in  that  age  and 
country,  the  conception  of  a  return  from  the 
lower  world  of  shades  was  not  a  difficult  one  to 
frame  ;  and  it  may  well  be  that  Jesus'  sense  of 
his  own  exalted  position  was  sufficiently  great 
to  inspire  him  with  the  confidence  that,  even 
in  case  of  temporary  failure,  Jehovah  would 
rescue  him  from  the  grave  and  send  him  back 
with  larger  powers  to  carry  out  the  purpose  of 
his  mission.  But  the  difficulty  of  distinguish- 
ing between  his  own  words  and  the  interpre- 
tation put  upon  them  by  his  disciples  becomes 
here  insuperable ;  and  there  will  always  be 
room  for  the  hypothesis  that  Jesus  had  in  view 
no  posthumous  career  of  his  own,  but  only  ex- 
pressed his  unshaken  confidence  in  the  success 
of  his  enterprise,  even  after  and  in  spite  of  his 
death. 

At  all  events,  the  possibility  of  his  death 
must  now  have  been  often  in  his  mind.    He 
was  undertaking  a  wellnigh  desperate  task,  — 
123 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

to  overthrow  the  Pharisees  in  Jerusalem  itself. 
No  other  alternative  was  left  him.  And  here 
we  believe  Mr.  F.  W.  Newman  to  be  sin- 
gularly at  fault  in  pronouncing  this  attempt 
of  Jesus  upon  Jerusalem  a  foolhardy  attempt. 
According  to  Mr.  Newman,  no  man  has  any 
business  to  rush  upon  certain  death,  and  it  is 
only  a  crazy  fanatic  who  will  do  so.1  But  such 
"glittering  generalizations"  will  here  help  us 
but  little.  The  historic  data  show  that  to  go 
to  Jerusalem,  even  at  the  risk  of  death,  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  realization  of  Je- 
sus' Messianic  project.  Mr.  Newman  certainly 
would  not  have  had  him  drag  out  an  inglorious 
and  baffled  existence  in  Syro-Phoenicia.  If  the 
Messianic  kingdom  was  to  be  fairly  inaugu- 
rated, there  was  work  to  be  done  in  Jerusalem, 
and  Jesus  must  go  there  as  one  in  authority, 
cost  what  it  might.  We  believe  him  to  have 
gone  there  in  a  spirit  of  grand  and  careless 
bravery,  yet  seriously  and  soberly,  and  under 
the  influence  of  no  fanatical  delusion.  He 
knew  the  risks,  but  deliberately  chose  to  incur 
them,  that  the  will  of  Jehovah  might  be  ac- 
complished. 

We  next  hear  of  Jesus  travelling  down  to 

Jerusalem  by  way  of  Jericho,  and  entering  the 

sacred  city  in  his  character  of  Messiah,  attended 

by  a  great  multitude.     It  was  near  the  time  of 

1  Phases  of  Faith,  pp.  158-164. 

I24 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

the  Passover,  when  people  from  all  parts  of 
Galilee  and  Judasa  were  sure  to  be  at  Jeru- 
salem, and  the  nature  of  his  reception  seems  to 
indicate  that  he  had  already  secured  a  consid- 
erable number  of  followers  upon  whose  assist- 
ance he  might  hope  to  rely,  though  it  nowhere 
appears  that  he  intended  to  use  other  than 
purely  moral  weapons  to  insure  a  favourable 
reception.  We  must  remember  that  for  half 
a  century  many  of  the  Jewish  people  had  been 
constantly  looking  for  the  arrival  of  the  Mes- 
siah, and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the 
entry  of  Jesus  riding  upon  an  ass  in  literal  ful- 
filment of  prophecy  must  have  wrought  power- 
fully upon  the  imagination  of  the  multitude. 
That  the  believers  in  him  were  very  numerous 
must  be  inferred  from  the  cautious,  not  to  say 
timid,  behaviour  of  the  rulers  at  Jerusalem, 
who  are  represented  as  desiring  to  arrest  him, 
but  as  deterred  from  taking  active  steps  through 
fear  of  the  people.  We  are  led  to  the  same 
conclusion  by  his  driving  the  money-changers 
out  of  the  Temple  ;  an  act  upon  which  he 
could  hardly  have  ventured,  had  not  the  popu- 
lar enthusiasm  in  his  favour  been  for  the 
moment  overwhelming.  But  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  mob  is  short-lived,  and  needs  to  be  fed 
upon  the  excitement  of  brilliant  and  dramati- 
cally arranged  events.  The  calm  preacher  of 
righteousness,  or  even  the  fiery  denouncer  of 
125 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  scribes  and  Pharisees,  could  not  hope  to 
retain  undiminished  authority  save  by  the  dis- 
play of  extraordinary  powers  to  which,  so  far 
as  we  know,  Jesus  (like  Mohammed)  made  no 
pretence  (Matt.  xvi.  1-4).  The  ignorant  and 
materialistic  populace  could  not  understand 
the  exalted  conception  of  Messiahship  which 
had.  been  formed  by  Jesus,  and  as  day  after  day 
elapsed  without  the  appearance  of  any  marvel- 
lous sign  from  Jehovah,  their  enthusiasm  must 
naturally  have"  cooled  down.  Then  the  Phari- 
sees appear  cautiously  endeavouring  to  entrap 
him  into  admissions  which  might  render  him 
obnoxious  to  the  Roman  governor.  He  saw 
through  their  design,  however,  and  foiled  them 
by  the  magnificent  repartee,  "  Render  unto  Cae- 
sar the  things  that  are  Caesar's,  and  unto  God 
the  things  that  are  God's."  Nothing  could 
more  forcibly  illustrate  the  completely  non- 
political  character  of  his  Messianic  doctrines. 
Nevertheless,  we  are  told  that,  failing  in  this 
attempt,  the  chief  priests  suborned  false  wit- 
nesses to  testify  against  him  :  this  Sabbath- 
breaker,  this  derider  of  Mosaic  formalism,  who 
with  his  Messianic  pretensions  excited  the  peo- 
ple against  their  hereditary  teachers,  must  at  all 
events  be  put  out  of  the  way.  Jesus  must  suf- 
fer the  fate  which  society  has  too  often  had  in 
store  for  the  reformer  ;  the  fate  which  Sokrates 
and  Savonarola,  Vanini  and  Bruno,  have  suf- 
126 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

fered  for  being  wiser  than  their  own  genera- 
tion. Messianic  adventurers  had  already  given 
much  trouble  to  the  Roman  authorities,  who 
were  not  likely  to  scrutinize  critically  the 
peculiar  claims  of  Jesus.  And  when  the  chief 
priests  accused  him  before  Pilate  of  professing 
to  be  "  King  of  the  Jews,"  this  claim  could 
in  Roman  apprehension  bear  but  one  interpre- 
tation. The  offence  was  treason,  punishable, 
save  in  the  case  of  Roman  citizens,  by  crucifix- 
ion. 

Such  in  its  main  outlines  is  the  historic 
career  of  Jesus,  as  constructed  by  our  author 
from  data  furnished  chiefly  by  the  first  gospel. 
Connected  with  the  narrative  there  are  many 
interesting  topics  of  discussion,  of  which  our 
rapidly  diminishing  space  will  allow  us  to  select 
only  one  for  comment.  That  one  is  perhaps 
the  most  important  of  all,  namely,  the  question 
as  to  how  far  Jesus  anticipated  the  views  of 
Paul  in  admitting  Gentiles  to  share  in  the 
privileges  of  the  Messianic  kingdom.  Our 
author  argues,  with  much  force,  that  the  de- 
signs of  Jesus  were  entirely  confined  to  the 
Jewish  people,  and  that  it  was  Paul  who  first, 
by  admitting  Gentiles  to  the  Christian  fold 
without  requiring  them  to  live  like  Jews,  gave 
to  Christianity  the  character  of  a  universal  re- 
ligion. Our  author  reminds  us  that  the  third 
gospel  is  not  to  be  depended  upon  in  deter- 
127 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

mining  this  point,  since  it  manifestly  puts 
Pauline  sentiments  into  the  mouth  of  Jesus, 
and  in  particular  attributes  to  Jesus  an  acquaint- 
ance with  heretical  Samaria  which  the  first 
gospel  disclaims.  He  argues  that  the  apostles 
were  in  every  respect  Jews,  save  in  their  belief 
that  Jesus  was  the  Messiah ;  and  he  per- 
tinently asks,  if  James,  who  was  the  brother 
of  Jesus,  and  Peter  and  John,  who  were  his 
nearest  friends,  unanimously  opposed  Paul  and 
stigmatized  him  as  a  liar  and  heretic,  is  it  at  all 
likely  that  Jesus  had  ever  distinctly  sanctioned 
such  views  as  Paul  maintained  ? 

In  the  course  of  many  years'  reflection  upon 
this  point,  we  have  several  times  been  inclined 
to  accept  the  narrow  interpretation  of  Jesus' 
teaching  here  indicated ;  yet,  on  the  whole,  we 
do  not  believe  it  can  ever  be  conclusively  estab- 
lished. In  the  first  place  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  if  the  third  gospel  throws  a  Pauline 
colouring  over  the  events  which  it  describes, 
the  first  gospel  also  shows  a  decidedly  anti- 
Pauline  bias,  and  the  one  party  was  as  likely  as 
the  other  to  attribute  its  own  views  to  Jesus 
himself.  One  striking  instance  of  this  tendency 
has  been  pointed  out  by  Strauss,  who  has 
shown  that  the  verses  Matt.  v.  17—20  are  an 
interpolation.  The  person  who  teaches  men  to 
break  the  commandments  is  undoubtedly  Paul, 
and  in  order  to  furnish  a  text  against  Paul's 
128 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

followers,  the  "  Nicolaitans,"  Jesus  is  made  to 
declare  that  he  came  not  to  destroy  one  tittle 
of  the  law,  but  to  fulfil  the  whole  in  every  par- 
ticular. Such  an  utterance  is  in  manifest  con- 
tradiction to  the  spirit  of  Jesus'  teaching,  as 
shown  in  the  very  same  chapter,  and  through- 
out a  great  part  of  the  same  gospel.  He  who 
taught  in  his  own  name  and  not  as  the  scribes, 
who  proclaimed  himself  Lord  over  the  Sabbath, 
and  who  manifested  from  first  to  last  a  more 
than  Essenian  contempt  for  rites  and  ceremo- 
nies, did  not  come  to  fulfil  the  law  of  Mosaism, 
but  to  supersede  it.  Nor  can  any  inference 
adverse  to  this  conclusion  be  drawn  from  the 
injunction  to  the  disciples  (Matt.  x.  5—7)  not  to 
preach  to  Gentiles  and  Samaritans,  but  only 
"  to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  house  of  Israel;  "  for 
this  remark  is  placed  before  the  beginning  of 
Jesus'  Messianic  career,  and  the  reason  assigned 
for  the  restriction  is  merely  that  the  disciples 
will  not  have  time  even  to  preach  to  all  the 
Jews  before  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  whose 
approach  Jesus  was  announcing  (Matt.  x.  23). 
These  examples  show  that  we  must  use  cau- 
tion in  weighing  the  testimony  even  of  the  first 
gospel,  and  must  not  too  hastily  cite  it  as  proof 
that  Jesus  supposed  his  mission  to  be  restricted 
to  the  Jews.  When  we  come  to  consider  what 
happened  a  few  years  after  the  death  of  Jesus, 
we  shall  be  still  less  ready  to  insist  upon  the 
129 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

view  defended  by  our  anonymous  author.  Paul, 
according  to  his  own  confession,  persecuted  the 
Christians  unto  death.  Now  what,  in  the  the- 
ories or  in  the  practice  of  the  Jewish  disciples 
of  Jesus,  could  have  moved  Paul  to  such  fanatic 
behaviour  ?  Certainly  not  their  spiritual  inter- 
pretation of  Mosaism,  for  Paul  himself  be- 
longed to  the  liberal  school  of  Gamaliel,  to  the 
views  of  which  the  teachings  and  practices  of 
Peter,  James,  and  John  might  easily  be  accom- 
modated. Probably  not  their  belief  in  Jesus  as 
the  Messiah,  for  at  the  riot  in  which  Stephen 
was  murdered  and  all  the  Hellenist  disciples 
driven  from  Jerusalem,  the  Jewish  disciples 
were  allowed  to  remain  in  the  city  unmolested. 
(See  Acts  viii.  i,  14.)  This  marked  difference 
of  treatment  indicates  that  Paul  regarded  Ste- 
phen and  his  friends  as  decidedly  more  hereti- 
cal and  obnoxious  than  Peter,  James,  and  John, 
whom,  indeed,  Paul's  own  master  Gamaliel  had 
recently  (Acts  v.  34)  defended  before  the  coun- 
cil. And  this  inference  is  fully  confirmed  by 
the  account  of  Stephen's  death,  where  his  mur- 
derers charge  him  with  maintaining  that  Jesus 
had  founded  a  new  religion  which  was  destined 
entirely  to  supersede  and  replace  Judaism  (Acts 
vi.  14).  The  Petrine  disciples  never  held  this 
view  of  the  mission  of  Jesus  ;  and  to  this  dif- 
ference it  is  undoubtedly  owing  that  Paul  and 
his  companions  forbore  to  disturb  them.  It 
130 


THE  JESUS  OF  HISTORY 

would  thus  appear  that  even  previous  to  Paul's 
conversion,  within  five  or  six  years  after  the 
death  of  Jesus,  there  was  a  prominent  party 
among  the  disciples  which  held  that  the  new 
religion  was  not  a  modification  but  an  abroga- 
tion of  Judaism  ;  and  their  name  "Hellenists  " 
sufficiently  shows  either  that  there  were  Gen- 
tiles among  them  or  that  they  held  fellowship 
with  Gentiles.  It  was  this  which  aroused  Paul 
to  persecution,  and  upon  his  sudden  conversion 
it  was  with  these  Hellenistic  doctrines  that  he 
fraternized,  taking  little  heed  of  the  Petrine  dis- 
ciples (Galatians  i.  17),  who  were  hardly  more 
than  a  Jewish  sect. 

Now  the  existence  of  these  Hellenists  at 
Jerusalem  so  soon  after  the  death  of  Jesus  is 
clear  proof  that  he  had  never  distinctly  and 
irrevocably  pronounced  against  the  admission 
of  Gentiles  to  the  Messianic  kingdom,  and  it 
makes  it  very  probable  that  the  downfall  of 
Mosaism  as  a  result  of  his  preaching  was  by 
no  means  unpremeditated.  While,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  obstinacy  of  the  Petrine  party  in 
adhering  to  Jewish  customs  shows  equally  that 
Jesus  could  not  have  unequivocally  committed 
himself  in  favour  of  a  new  gospel  for  the  Gen- 
tiles. Probably  Jesus  was  seldom  brought  into 
direct  contact  with  others  than  Jews,  so  that  the 
questions  concerning  the  admission  of  Gentile 
converts  did  not  come  up  during  his  lifetime ; 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  thus  the  way  was  left  open  for  the  con- 
troversy which  soon  broke  out  between  the 
Petrine  party  and  Paul.  Nevertheless,  though 
Jesus  may  never  have  definitely  pronounced 
upon  this  point,  it  will  hardly  be  denied  that 
his  teaching,  even  as  reported  in  the  first  gos- 
pel, is  in  its  utter  condemnation  of  formalism 
far  more  closely  allied  to  the  Pauline  than  to 
the  Petrine  doctrines.  In  his  hands  Mosaism 
became  spiritualized  until  it  really  lost  its  iden- 
tity, and  was  transformed  into  a  code  fit  for  the 
whole  Roman  world.  And  we  do  not  doubt 
that  if  any  one  had  asked  Jesus  whether  cir- 
cumcision were  an  essential  prerequisite  for 
admission  to  the  Messianic  kingdom,  he  would 
have  given  the  same  answer  which  Paul  after- 
wards gave.  We  agree  with  Zeller  and  Strauss 
that,  "as  Luther  was  a  more  liberal  spirit  than 
the  Lutheran  divines  of  the  succeeding  genera- 
tion, and  Sokrates  a  more  profound  thinker  than 
Xenophon  or  Antisthenes,  so  also  Jesus  must 
be  credited  with  having  raised  himself  far  higher 
above  the  narrow  prejudices  of  his  nation  than 
those  of  his  disciples  who  could  scarcely  under- 
stand the  spread  of  Christianity  among  the 
heathen  when  it  had  become  an  accomplished 
fact." 

January,  1870. 


132 


IV 
THE   CHRIST   OF   DOGMA1 

THE  meagreness  of  our  information  con- 
cerning the  historic  career  of  Jesus 
stands  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
mass  of  information  which  lies  within  our  reach 
concerning  the  primitive  character  of  Christo- 
logic  speculation.  First  we  have  the  four  epis- 
tles of  Paul,  written  from  twenty  to  thirty  years 
after  the  crucifixion,  which,  although  they  tell 
us  next  to  nothing  about  what  Jesus  did,  never- 
theless give  us  very  plain  information  as  to  the 
impression  which  he  made.  Then  we  have  the 
Apocalypse,  written  by  John,  A.  D.  68,  which 
exhibits  the  Messianic  theory  entertained  by 
the  earliest  disciples.  Next  we  have  the  epistles 
to  the  Hebrews,  Philippians,  Colossians,  and 
Ephesians,  besides  the  four  gospels,  constitut- 
ing altogether  a  connected  chain  of  testimony 

1  Saint-Paul,  par  Ernest  Renan.      Paris,  1869. 

Hist  air  e  du  Dog  me  de  la  Divinite  de  Jesus- Christ,  par 
Albert  Reville.  Paris,  1869. 

The  End  of  the  World  and  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Two 
Discourses  by  the  Rev.  W.  R.  Alger.  Boston  :  Roberts 
Brothers,  1870. 

133 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

to  the  progress  of  Christian  doctrine  from 
the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  to  the  time  of 
the  Quartodeciman  controversy  (A.  D.  70-170). 
Finally,  there  is  the  vast  collection  of  apocry- 
phal, heretical,  and  patristic  literature,  from  the 
writings  of  Justin  Martyr,  the  pseudo-Clement, 
and  the  pseudo-Ignatius,  down  to  the  time  of 
the  Council  of  Nikaia,  when  the  official  theories 
of  Christ's  person  assumed  very  nearly  the  shape 
which  they  have  retained,  within  the  orthodox 
churches  of  Christendom,  down  to  the  present 
day.  As  we  pointed  out  in  the  foregoing  essay, 
while  all  this  voluminous  literature  throws  but 
an  uncertain  light  upon  the  life  and  teachings 
of  the  founder  of  Christianity,  it  nevertheless 
furnishes  nearly  all  the  data  which  we  could 
desire  for  knowing  what  the  early  Christians 
thought  of  the  master  of  their  faith.  Having 
given  a  brief  account  of  the  historic  career  of 
Jesus,  so  far  as  it  can  now  be  determined,  we 
propose  here  to  sketch  the  rise  and  progress  of 
Christologic  doctrine,  in  its  most  striking  fea- 
tures, during  the  first  three  centuries.  Begin- 
ning with  the  apostolic  view  of  the  human 
Messiah  sent  to  deliver  Judaism  from  its  spirit- 
ual torpor,  and  prepare  it  for  the  millennial 
kingdom,  we  shall  briefly  trace  the  progressive 
metamorphosis  of  this  conception  until  it  com- 
pletely loses  its  identity  in  the  Athanasian  the- 
ory, according  to  which  Jesus  was  God  himself, 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

the  Creator  of  the  universe,  incarnate  in  human 
flesh. 

The  earliest  dogma  held  by  the  apostles  con- 
cerning Jesus  was  that  of  his  resurrection  from 
the  grave  after  death.  It  was  not  only  the  ear- 
liest, but  the  most  essential  to  the  success  of 
the  new  religion.  Christianity  might  have  over- 
spread the  Roman  Empire,  and  maintained  its 
hold  upon  men's  faith  until  to-day,  without  the 
dogmas  of  the  incarnation  and  the  Trinity ;  but 
without  the  dogma  of  the  resurrection  it  would 
probably  have  failed  at  the  very  outset.  Its 
lofty  morality  would  not  alone  have  sufficed  to 
insure  its  success.  For  what  men  needed  then, 
as  indeed  they  still  need,  and  will  always  need, 
was  not  merely  a  rule  of  life  and  a  mirror  to  the 
heart,  but  also  a  comprehensive  and  satisfactory 
theory  of  things,  a  philosophy  or  theosophy. 
The  times  demanded  intellectual  as  well  as 
moral  consolation ;  and  the  disintegration  of 
ancient  theologies  needed  to  be  repaired,  that 
the  new  ethical  impulse  imparted  by  Christian- 
ity might  rest  upon  a  plausible  speculative  basis. 
The  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  was  but  the 
beginning  of  a  series  of  speculative  innovations 
which  prepared  the  way  for  the  new  religion  to 
emancipate  itself  from  Judaism,  and  achieve  the 
conquest  of  the  Empire.  Even  the  faith  of  the 
apostles  in  the  speedy  return  of  their  master 
the  Messiah  must  have  somewhat  lost  ground, 

135 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

had  it  not  been  supported  by  their  belief  in  his 
resurrection  from  the  grave  and  his  consequent 
transfer  from  Sheol,  the  gloomy  land  of  shad- 
ows, to  the  regions  above  the  sky. 

The  origin  of  the  dogma  of  the  resurrection 
cannot  be  determined  with  certainty.  The  ques- 
tion has,  during  the  past  century,  been  the  sub- 
ject of  much  discussion,  upon  which  it  is  not 
necessary  for  us  here  to  comment.  Such  appar- 
ent evidence  as  there  is  in  favour  of  the  old  the- 
ory of  Jesus'  natural  recovery  from  the  effects 
of  the  crucifixion  may  be  found  in  Salvador's 
"  Jesus-Christ  et  sa  Doctrine  ;  "  but,  as  Zeller 
has  shown,  the  theory  is  utterly  unsatisfactory. 
The  natural  return  of  Jesus  to  his  disciples 
never  could  have  given  rise  to  the  notion  of 
his  resurrection,  since  the  natural  explanation 
would  have  been  the  more  obvious  one  ;  besides 
which,  if  we  were  to  adopt  this  hypothesis,  we 
should  be  obliged  to  account  for  the  fact  that 
the  historic  career  of  J  esus  ends  with  the  cruci- 
fixion. The  most  probable  explanation,  on  the 
whole,  is  the  one  suggested  by  the  accounts  in 
the  gospels,  that  the  dogma  of  the  resurrection 
is  due  originally  to  the  excited  imagination 
of  Mary  of  Magdala.1  The  testimony  of  Paul 
may  also  be  cited  in  favour  of  this  view,  since 
he  always  alludes  to  earlier  Christophanies  in 
just  the  same  language  which  he  uses  in  de- 
1  See  Taine,  De  I' Intelligence,  ii.  192. 
136 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

scribing  his  own  vision  on  the  road  to  Damas- 
cus. 

But  the  question  as  to  how  the  belief  in  the 
resurrection  of  Jesus  originated  is  of  less  impor- 
tance than  the  question  as  to  how  it  should  have 
produced  the  effect  that  it  did.  The  dogma  of 
the  resurrection  has,  until  recent  times,  been  so 
rarely  treated  from  the  historical  point  of  view, 
that  the  student  of  history  at  first  finds  some 
difficulty  in  thoroughly  realizing  its  import  to 
the  minds  of  those  who  first  proclaimed  it.  We 
cannot  hope  to  understand  it  without  bearing 
in  mind  the  theories  of  the  Jews  and  early 
Christians  concerning  the  structure  of  the  world 
and  the  cosmic  location  of  departed  souls.  Since 
the  time  of  Copernicus  modern  Christians  no 
longer  attempt  to  locate  heaven  and  hell ;  they 
are  conceived  merely  as  mysterious  places  re- 
mote from  the  earth.  The  theological  universe 
no  longer  corresponds  to  that  which  physical 
science  presents  for  our  contemplation.  It  was 
quite  different  with  the  Jew.  His  conception 
of  the  abode  of  Jehovah  and  the  angels,  and 
of  departed  souls,  was  exceedingly  simple  and 
definite.  In  the  Jewish  theory  the  universe  is 
like  a  sort  of  three-story  house.  The  flat  earth 
rests  upon  the  waters,  and  under  the  earth's 
surface  is  the  land  of  graves,  called  Sheol,  where 
after  death  the  souls  of  all  men  go,  the  right- 
eous as  well  as  the  wicked,  for  the  Jew  had  not 

137 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

arrived  at  the  doctrine  of  heaven  and  hell.  The 
Hebrew  Sheol  corresponds  strictly  to  the  Greek 
Hades,  before  the  notions  of  Elysium  and  Tar- 
tarus were  added  to  it,  —  a  land  peopled  with 
flitting  shadows,  suffering  no  torment,  but  ex- 
periencing no  pleasure,  like  those  whom  Dante 
met  in  one  of  the  upper  circles  of  his  Inferno. 
Sheol  is  the  first  story  of  the  cosmic  house ;  the 
earth  is  the  second.  Above  the  earth  is  the  fir- 
mament or  sky,  which,  according  to  the  book 
of  Genesis  (chap.  i.  v.  6,  Hebrew  text),  is  a  vast 
plate  hammered  out  by  the  gods,  and  supports 
a  great  ocean  like  that  upon  which  the  earth 
rests.  Rain  is  caused  by  the  opening  of  little 
windows  or  trap-doors  in  the  firmament,  through 
which  pours  the  water  of  this  upper  ocean. 
Upon  this  water  rests  the  land  of  heaven,  where 
Jehovah  reigns,  surrounded  by  hosts  of  angels. 
To  this  blessed  land  two  only  of  the  human 
race  had  ever  been  admitted,  —  Enoch  and 
Elijah,  the  latter  of  whom  had  ascended  in  a 
chariot  of  fire,  and  was  destined  to  return  to 
earth  as  the  herald  and  forerunner  of  the  Mes- 
siah. Heaven  forms  the  third  story  of  the  cos- 
mic house.  Between  the  firmament  and  the 
earth  is  the  air,  which  is  the  habitation  of  evil 
demons  ruled  by  Satan,  the  "  prince  of  the 
powers  of  the  air." 

Such  was  the  cosmology  of  the  ancient  Jew  ; 
and  his  theology  was    equally  simple.     Sheol 
138 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

was  the  destined  abode  of  all  men  after  death, 
and  no  theory  of  moral  retribution  was  at- 
tached to  the  conception.  The  rewards  and 
punishments  known  to  the  authors  of  the  Pen- 
tateuch and  the  early  Psalms  are  all  earthly  re- 
wards and  punishments.  But  in  course  of  time 
the  prosperity  of  the  wicked  and  the  misfor- 
tunes of  the  good  man  furnished  a  troublesome 
problem  for  the  Jewish  thinker  ;  and  after  the 
Babylonish  Captivity,  we  find  the  doctrine  of 
a  resurrection  from  Sheol  devised  in  order  to 
meet  this  case.  According  to  this  doctrine  — 
which  was  borrowed  from  the  Zarathustrian 
theology  of  Persia  —  the  Messiah  on  his  ar- 
rival was  to  free  from  Sheol  all  the  souls  of  the 
righteous,  causing  them  to  ascend  reinvested 
in  their  bodies  to  a  renewed  and  beautiful 
earth,  while  on  the  other  hand  the  wicked 
were  to  be  punished  with  tortures  like  those 
of  the  valley  of  Hinnom,  or  were  to  be  im- 
mersed in  liquid  brimstone,  like  that  which 
had  rained  upon  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.  Here 
we  get  the  first  announcement  of  a  future  state 
of  retribution.  The  doctrine  was  peculiarly 
Pharisaic,  and  the  Sadducees,  who  were  strict 
adherents  to  the  letter  of  Mosaism,  rejected  it 
to  the  last.  By  degrees  this  doctrine  became 
coupled  with  the  Messianic  theories  of  the  Phar- 
isees. The  loss  of  Jewish  independence  under 
the  dominion  of  Persians,  Macedonians,  and 
139 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Romans,  caused  the  people  to  look  ever  more 
earnestly  towards  the  expected  time  when  the 
Messiah  should  appear  in  Jerusalem  to  de- 
liver them  from  their  oppressors.  The  moral 
doctrines  of  the  Psalms  and  earlier  prophets 
assumed  an  increasingly  political  aspect.  The 
Jews  were  the  righteous  "  under  a  cloud," 
whose  sufferings  were  symbolically  depicted  by 
the  younger  Isaiah  as  the  afflictions  of  the  "  ser- 
vant of  Jehovah ; "  while  on  the  other  hand, 
the  "  wicked  "  were  the  Gentile  oppressors  of 
the  holy  people.  Accordingly  the  Messiah,  on 
his  arrival,  was  to  sit  in  judgment  in  the  valley 
of  Jehoshaphat,  rectifying  the  wrongs  of  his 
chosen  ones,  condemning  the  Gentile  tyrants 
to  the  torments  of  Gehenna,  and  raising  from 
Sheol  all  those  Jews  who  had  lived  and  died 
during  the  evil  times  before  his  coming. 
These  were  to  find  in  the  Messianic  kingdom 
the  compensation  for  the  ills  which  they  had 
suffered  in  their  first  earthly  existence.  Such 
are  the  main  outlines  of  the  theory  found  in  the 
Book  of  Enoch,  written  about  B.  c.  100,  and 
it  is  adopted  in  the  Johannine  Apocalypse, 
with  little  variation,  save  in  the  recognition  of 
Jesus  as  the  Messiah,  and  in  the  transference 
to  his  second  coming  of  all  these  wonderful 
proceedings.  The  manner  of  the  Messiah's 
coming  had  been  variously  imagined.  Accord- 
ing to  an  earlier  view,  he  was  to  enter  Jerusalem 
140 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

as  a  King  of  the  house  of  David,  and  therefore 
of  human  lineage.  According  to  a  later  view, 
presented  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  he  was  to 
descend  from  the  sky,  and  appear  among  the 
clouds.  Both  these  views  were  adopted  by  the 
disciples  of  Jesus,  who  harmonized  them  by 
referring  the  one  to  his  first  and  the  other  to 
his  second  appearance. 

Now  to  the  imaginations  of  these  earliest 
disciples  the  belief  in  the  resurrection  of  Jesus 
presented  itself  as  a  needful  guarantee  of  his 
Messiahship.  Their  faith,  which  must  have 
been  shaken  by  his  execution  and  descent  into 
Sheol,  received  welcome  confirmation  by  the 
springing  up  of  the  belief  that  he  had  been 
again  seen  upon  the  face  of  the  earth.  Apply- 
ing the  imagery  of  Daniel,  it  became  a  logical 
conclusion  that  he  must  have  ascended  into 
the  sky,  whence  be  might  shortly  be  expected 
to  make  his  appearance,  to  enact  the  scenes 
foretold  in  prophecy.  That  such  was  the  ac- 
tual process  of  inference  is  shown  by  the  le- 
gend of  the  Ascension  in  the  first  chapter  of 
the  "  Acts,"  and  especially  by  the  words, 
"  This  Jesus  who  hath  been  taken  up  from 
you  into  heaven,  will  come  in  the  same  manner 
in  which  ye  beheld  him  going  into  heaven." 
In  the  Apocalypse,  written  A.  D.  68,  just  after 
the  death  of  Nero,  this  second  coming  is  de- 
scribed as  something  immediately  to  happen, 
141 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  the  colours  in  which  it  is  depicted  show 
how  closely  allied  were  the  Johannine  notions 
to  those  of  the  Pharisees.  The  glories  of  the 
New  Jerusalem  are  to  be  reserved  for  Jews, 
while  for  the  Roman  tyrants  of  Judaea  is  re- 
served a  fearful  retribution.  They  are  to  be 
trodden  underfoot  by  the  Messiah,  like  grapes 
in  a  wine-press,  until  the  gushing  blood  shall 
rise  to  the  height  of  the  horse's  bridle. 

In  the  writings  of  Paul  the  dogma  of  the 
resurrection  assumes  a  very  different  aspect. 
Though  Paul,  like  the  older  apostles,  held 
that  Jesus,  as  the  Messiah,  was  to  return  to 
the  earth  within  a  few  years,  yet  to  his  catho- 
lic mind  this  anticipated  event  had  become 
divested  of  its  narrow  Jewish  significance.  In 
the  eyes  of  Paul,  the  religion  preached  by 
Jesus  was  an  abrogation  of  Mosaism,  and  the 
truths  contained  in  it  were  a  free  gift  to  the 
Gentile  as  well  as  to  the  Jewish  world.  Accord- 
ing to  Paul,  death  came  into  the  world  as  a 
punishment  for  the  sin  of  Adam.  By  this  he 
meant  that,  had  it  not  been  for  the  original 
transgression,  all  men  escaping  death  would 
either  have  remained  upon  earth  or  have  been 
conveyed  to  heaven,  like  Enoch  and  Elijah, 
in  incorruptible  bodies.  But  in  reality,  as  a 
penance  for  disobedience,  all  men,  with  these 
two  exceptions,  had  suffered  death,  and  been 
exiled  to  the  gloomy  caverns  of  Sheol.  The 
142 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

Mosaic  ritual  was  powerless  to  free  men  from 
this  repulsive  doom,  but  it  had  nevertheless 
served  a  good  purpose  in  keeping  men's  minds 
directed  towards  holiness,  preparing  them,  as 
a  schoolmaster  would  prepare  his  pupils,  to 
receive  the  vitalizing  truths  of  Christ.  Now, 
at  last,  the  Messiah  or  Christ  had  come  as  a 
second  Adam,  and  being  without  sin  had  been 
raised  by  Jehovah  out  of  Sheol  and  taken  up 
into  heaven,  as  testimony  to  men  that  the 
power  of  sin  and  death  was  at  last  defeated. 
The  way  henceforth  to  avoid  death  and  escape 
the  exile  to  Sheol  was  to  live  spiritually  like 
Jesus,  and  with  him  to  be  dead  to  sensual  re- 
quirements. Faith,  in  Paul's  apprehension,  was 
not  an  intellectual  assent  to  definitely  pre- 
scribed dogmas,  but,  as  Matthew  Arnold  has 
well  pointed  out,  it  was  an  emotional  striving 
after  righteousness,  a  developing  consciousness 
of  God  in  the  soul,  such  as  Jesus  had  pos- 
sessed, or,  in  Paul's  phraseology,  a  subjugation 
of  the  flesh  by  the  spirit.  All  those  who  should 
thus  seek  spiritual  perfection  should  escape  the 
original  curse.  The  Messiah  was  destined  to 
return  to  the  earth  to  establish  the  reign  of 
spiritual  holiness,  probably  during  Paul's  own 
lifetime  (i  Cor.  xv.  51).  Then  the  true  fol- 
lowers of  Jesus  should  be  clothed  in  ethereal 
bodies,  free  from  the  imperfections  of  "  the 
flesh,"  and  should  ascend  to  heaven  without 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

suffering  death,  while  the  righteous  dead  should 
at  the  same  time  be  released  from  Sheol,  even 
as  Jesus  himself  had  been  released. 

To  the  doctrine  of  the  resurrection,  in  which 
ethical  and  speculative  elements  are  thus  hap- 
pily blended  by  Paul,  the  new  religion  doubt- 
less owed  in  great  part  its  rapid  success.  Into 
an  account  of  the  causes  which  favoured  the 
spreading  of  Christianity,  it  is  not  our  purpose 
to  enter  at  present.  But  we  may  note  that  the 
local  religions  of  the  ancient  pagan  world  had 
partly  destroyed  each  other  by  mutual  inter- 
mingling, and  had  lost  their  hold  upon  people 
from  the  circumstance  that  their  ethical  teaching 
no  longer  corresponded  to  the  advanced  ethical 
feeling  of  the  age.  Polytheism,  in  short,  was 
outgrown.  It  was  outgrown  both  intellectually 
and  morally.  People  were  ceasing  to  believe  in 
its  doctrines,  and  were  ceasing  to  respect  its  pre- 
cepts. The  learned  were  taking  refuge  in  phi- 
losophy, the  ignorant  in  mystical  superstitions 
imported  from  Asia.  The  commanding  ethical 
motive  of  ancient  republican  times  had  been 
patriotism,  —  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the 
community.  But  Roman  dominion  had  de- 
stroyed patriotism  as  a  guiding  principle  of  life, 
and  thus  in  every  way  the  minds  of  men  were 
left  in  a  sceptical,  unsatisfied  state,  —  craving 
after  a  new  theory  of  life,  and  craving  after  a  new 
stimulus  to  right  action.  Obviously  the  only 
144 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

theology  which  could  now  be  satisfactory  to 
philosophy  or  to  common-sense  was  some  form 
of  monotheism,  —  some  system  of  doctrines 
which  should  represent  all  men  as  spiritually 
subjected  to  the  will  of  a  single  God,  just  as 
they  were  subjected  to  the  temporal  authority 
of  the  Emperor.  And  similarly  the  only  sys- 
tem of  ethics  which  could  have  a  chance  of 
prevailing  must  be  some  system  which  should 
clearly  prescribe  the  mutual  duties  of  all  men 
without  distinction  of  race  or  locality.  Thus 
the  spiritual  morality  of  Jesus,  and  his  concep- 
tion of  God  as  a  father  and  of  all  men  as 
brothers,  appeared  at  once  to  meet  the  ethical 
and  speculative  demands  of  the  time. 

Yet  whatever  effect  these  teachings  might 
have  produced,  if  unaided  by  further  doctrinal 
elaboration,  was  enhanced  myriadfold  by  the 
elaboration  which  they  received  at  the  hands  of 
Paul.  Philosophic  Stoics  and  Epicureans  had 
arrived  at  the  conception  of  the  brotherhood  of 
men,  and  the  Greek  hymn  of  Kleanthes  had 
exhibited  a  deep  spiritual  sense  of  the  father- 
hood of  God.  The  originality  of  Christianity 
lay  not  so  much  in  its  enunciation  of  new  ethi- 
cal precepts  as  in  the  fact  that  it  furnished  a  new 
ethical  sanction, —  a  commanding  incentive  to 
holiness  of  living.  That  it  might  accomplish 
this  result,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  it 
should  begin  by  discarding  both  the  ritualism 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  the  narrow  theories  of  Judaism.  The  mere 
desire  for  a  monotheistic  creed  had  led  many 
pagans,  in  Paul's  time,  to  embrace  Judaism,  in 
spite  of  its  requirements,  which  to  Romans  and 
Greeks  were  meaningless,  and  often  disgusting ; 
but  such  conversions  could  never  have  been 
numerous.  Judaism  could  never  have  con- 
quered the  Roman  world ;  nor  is  it  likely  that 
the  Judaical  Christianity  of  Peter,  James,  and 
John  would  have  been  any  more  successful. 
The  doctrine  of  the  resurrection,  in  particular, 
was  not  likely  to  prove  attractive  when  accom- 
panied by  the  picture  of  the  Messiah  treading 
the  Gentiles  in  the  wine-press  of  his  righteous 
indignation.  But  here  Paul  showed  his  pro- 
found originality.  The  condemnation  of  Jew- 
ish formalism  which  Jesus  had  pronounced, 
Paul  turned  against  the  older  apostles,  who 
insisted  upon  circumcision.  With  marvellous 
flexibility  of  mind,  Paul  placed  circumcision  and 
the  Mosaic  injunctions  about  meats  upon  a 
level  with  the  ritual  observances  of  pagan  na- 
tions, allowing  each  feeble  brother  to  perform 
such  works  as  might  tickle  his  fancy,  but  bid- 
ding all  take  heed  that  salvation  was  not  to  be 
obtained  after  any  such  mechanical  method,  but 
only  by  devoting  the  whole  soul  to  righteous- 
ness, after  the  example  of  Jesus. 

This  was  the  negative  part  of  Paul's  work. 
This  was  the  knocking  down  of  the  barriers 
146 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

which  had  kept  men,  and  would  always  have 
kept  them,  from  entering  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  But  the  positive  part  of  Paul's  work 
is  contained  in  his  theory  of  the  salvation  of 
men  from  death  through  the  second  Adam, 
whom  Jehovah  rescued  from  Sheol  for  his  sin- 
lessness.  The  resurrection  of  Jesus  was  the  visi- 
ble token  of  the  escape  from  death  which  might 
be  achieved  by  all  men  who,  with  God's  aid, 
should  succeed  in  freeing  themselves  from  the 
burden  of  sin  which  had  encumbered  all  the 
children  of  Adam.  The  end  of  the  world  was 
at  hand,  and  they  who  would  live  with  Christ 
must  figuratively  die  with  Christ,  —  must  be- 
come dead  to  sin.  Thus  to  the  pure  and  spir- 
itual ethics  contained  in  the  teachings  of  Jesus, 
Paul  added  an  incalculably  powerful  incentive 
to  right  action,  and  a  theory  of  life  calculated 
to  satisfy  the  speculative  necessities  of  the  pagan 
or  Gentile  world.  To  the  educated  and  scepti- 
cal Athenian,  as  to  the  critical  scholar  of  mod- 
ern times,  the  physical  resurrection  of  Jesus 
from  the  grave,  and  his  ascent  through  the 
vaulted  floor  of  heaven,  might  seem  foolishness 
or  naivete.  But  to  the  average  Greek  or  Ro- 
man the  conception  presented  no  serious  diffi- 
culty. The  cosmical  theories  upon  which  the 
conception  was  founded  were  essentially  the 
same  among  Jews  and  Gentiles,  and  indeed 
were  but  little  modified  until  the  establishment 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  the  Copernican  astronomy.  The  doctrine 
of  the  Messiah's  second  coming  was  also  re- 
ceived without  opposition,  and  for  about  a  cen- 
tury men  lived  in  continual  anticipation  of  that 
event,  until  hope  long  deferred  produced  its 
usual  results ;  the  writings  in  which  that  event 
was  predicted  were  gradually  explained  away, 
ignored,  or  stigmatized  as  uncanonical ;  and  the 
Church  ended  by  condemning  as  a  heresy  the 
very  doctrine  which  Paul  and  the  Judaizing 
apostles,  who  agreed  in  little  else,  had  alike 
made  the  basis  of  their  speculative  teachings. 
Nevertheless,  by  the  dint  of  allegorical  inter- 
pretation, the  belief  has  maintained  an  obscure 
existence  even  down  to  the  present  time ;  the 
Antiochus  of  the  Book  of  Daniel  and  the 
Nero  of  the  Apocalypse  having  given  place  to 
the  Roman  Pontiff  or  to  the  Emperor  of  the 
French. 

But  as  the  millenarism  of  the  primitive 
Church  gradually  died  out  during  the  second 
century,  the  essential  principles  involved  in  it 
lost  none  of  their  hold  on  men's  minds.  As  the 
generation  contemporary  with  Paul  died  away 
and  was  gathered  into  Sheol,  it  became  appar- 
ent that  the  original  theory  must  be  somewhat 
modified,  and  to  this  question  the  author  of  the 
second  epistle  to  the  Thessalonians  addresses 
himself.  Instead  of  literal  preservation  from 
death,  the  doctrine  of  a  resurrection  from  the 
148 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

grave  was  gradually  extended  to  the  case  of 
the  new  believers,  who  were  to  share  in  the 
same  glorious  revival  with  the  righteous  of 
ancient  times.  And  thus  by  slow  degrees  the 
victory  over  death,  of  which  the  resurrection  of 
Jesus  was  a  symbol  and  a  witness,  became  met- 
amorphosed into  the  comparatively  modern 
doctrine  of  the  rest  of  the  saints  in  heaven, 
while  the  banishment  of  the  unrighteous  to 
Sheol  was  made  still  more  dreadful  by  coupling 
with  the  vague  conception  of  a  gloomy  subter- 
ranean cavern  the  horrible  imagery  of  the  lake 
of  fire  and  brimstone  borrowed  from  the  apo- 
calyptic descriptions  of  Gehenna.  But  in  this 
modification  of  the  original  theory,  the  funda- 
mental idea  of  a  future  state  of  retribution  was 
only  the  more  distinctly  emphasized;  although, 
in  course  of  time,  the  original  incentive  to 
righteousness  supplied  by  Paul  was  more  and 
more  subordinated  to  the  comparatively  degrad- 
ing incentive  involved  in  the  fear  of  damnation. 
There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  the  definite- 
ness  and  vividness  of  the  Pauline  theory  of  a 
future  life  contributed  very  largely  to  the  rapid 
spread  of  the  Christian  religion ;  nor  can  it  be 
doubted  that  to  the  desire  to  be  holy  like  Jesus, 
in  order  to  escape  death  and  live  with  Jesus,  is 
due  the  elevating  ethical  influence  which,  even 
in  the  worst  times  of  ecclesiastic  degeneracy, 
Christianity  has  never  failed  to  exert.  Doubt- 
149 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

less,  as  Lessing  long  ago  observed,  the  notion 
of  future  reward  and  punishment  needs  to  be 
eliminated  in  order  that  the  incentive  to  holi- 
ness may  be  a  perfectly  pure  one.  The  highest 
virtue  is  that  which  takes  no  thought  of  reward 
or  punishment ;  but  for  a  conception  of  this  sort 
the  mind  of  antiquity  was  not  ready,  nor  is  the 
average  mind  of  to-day  yet  ready  ;  and  the  sud- 
den or  premature  dissolution  of  the  Christian 
theory  —  which  is  fortunately  impossible  — 
might  perhaps  entail  a  moral  retrogradation. 

The  above  is  by  no  means  intended  as  a  com-* 
plete  outline  of  the  religious  philosophy  of  Paul. 
We  have  aimed  only  at  a  clear  definition  of  the 
character  and  scope  of  the  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection of  Jesus,  at  the  time  when  it  was  first 
elaborated.  We  have  now  to  notice  the  influ- 
ence of  that  doctrine  upon  the  development  of 
Christologic  speculation. 

In  neither  of  the  four  genuine  epistles  of  Paul 
is  Jesus  described  as  superhuman,  or  as  differ- 
ing in  nature  from  other  men,  save  in  his  free- 
dom from  sin.  As  Baur  has  shown, "  the  proper 
nature  of  the  Pauline  Christ  is  human.  He  is  a 
man,  but  a  spiritual  man,  one  in  whom  spirit  or 
pneuma  was  the  essential  principle,  so  that  he  was 
spirit  as  well  as  man.  The  principle  of  an  ideal 
humanity  existed  before  Christ  in  the  bright 
form  of  a  typical  man,  but  was  manifested  to 
mankind  in  the  person  of  Christ."  Such,  ac- 
150 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

cording  to  Baur,  is  Paul's  interpretation  of  the 
Messianic  idea.  Paul  knows  nothing  of  the 
miracles,  of  the  supernatural  conception,  of  the 
incarnation,  or  of  the  Logos.  The  Christ  whom 
he  preaches  is  the  man  Jesus,  the  founder  of  a 
new  and  spiritual  order  of  humanity,  as  Adam 
was  the  father  of  humanity  after  the  flesh.  The 
resurrection  is  uniformly  described  by  him  as  a 
manifestation  of  the  power  of  Jehovah,  not  of 
Jesus  himself.  The  later  conception  of  Christ 
bursting  the  barred  gates  of  Sheol,  and  arising 
by  his  own  might  to  heaven,  finds  no  warrant 
in  the  expressions  of  Paul.  Indeed,  it  was  essen- 
tial to  Paul's  theory  of  the  Messiah  as  a  new 
Adam,  that  he  should  be  human  and  not  divine  ; 
for  the  escape  of  a  divine  being  from  Sheol  could 
afford  no  precedent  and  furnish  no  assurance  of 
the  future  escape  of  human  beings.  It  was  ex- 
pressly because  the  man  Jesus  had  been  rescued 
from  the  grave  because  of  his  spirituality,  that 
other  men  might  hope,  by  becoming  spiritual 
like  him,  to  be  rescued  also.  Accordingly  Paul 
is  careful  to  state  that  "  since  through  man  came 
death,  through  man  came  also  the  resurrection 
of  the  dead"  (i  Cor.  xv.  21);  a  passage  which 
would  look  like  an  express  denial  of  Christ's 
superhuman  character,  were  it  probable  that  any 
of  Paul's  contemporaries  had  ever  conceived  of 
Jesus  as  other  than  essentially  human. 

But  though  Paul's  Christology  remained  in 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

this  primitive  stage,  it  contained  the  germs  of 
a  more  advanced  theory.  For  even  Paul  con- 
ceived of  Jesus  as  a  man  wholly  exceptional  in 
spiritual  character ;  or,  in  the  phraseology  of 
the  time,  as  consisting  to  a  larger  extent  of 
pueuma  than  any  man  who  had  lived  before  him. 
The  question  was  sure  to  arise,  Whence  came 
this  pneuma  or  spiritual  quality  ?  Whether  the 
question  ever  distinctly  presented  itself  to  Paul's 
mind  cannot  be  determined.  Probably  it  did 
not.  In  those  writings  of  his  which  have  come 
down  to  us,  he  shows  himself  careless  of  meta- 
physical considerations.  He  is  mainly  con- 
cerned with  exhibiting  the  unsatisfactory  char- 
acter of  Jewish  Christianity,  and  with  inculcating 
a  spiritual  morality,  to  which  the  doctrine  of 
Christ's  resurrection  is  made  to  supply  a  sur- 
passingly powerful  sanction.  But  attempts  to 
solve  the  problem  were  not  long  in  coming. 
According  to  a  very  early  tradition,  of  which 
the  obscured  traces  remain  in  the  synoptic  gos- 
pels, Jesus  received  the  pneuma  at  the  time  of 
his  baptism,  when  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  visible 
manifestation  of  the  essence  of  Jehovah,  de- 
scended upon  him  and  became  incarnate  in  him. 
This  theory,  however,  was  exposed  to  the  ob- 
jection that  it  implied  a  sudden  and  entire  trans- 
formation of  an  ordinary  man  into  a  person 
inspired  or  possessed  by  the  Deity.  Though 
long  maintained  by  the  Ebionites  or  primitive 
152 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

Christians,  it  was  very  soon  rejected  by  the  great 
body  of  the  Church,  which  asserted  instead  that 
Jesus  had  been  inspired  by  the  Holy  Spirit  from 
the  moment  of  his  conception.  From  this  it  was 
but  a  step  to  the  theory  that  Jesus  was  actually 
begotten  by  or  of  the  Holy  Spirit ;  a  notion 
which  the  Hellenic  mind,  accustomed  to  the 
myths  of  Leda,  Anchises,  and  others,  found 
no  difficulty  in  entertaining.  According  to  the 
Gospel  of  the  Hebrews,  as  cited  by  Origen,  the 
Holy  Spirit  was  the  mother  of  Jesus,  and  Jo- 
seph was  his  father.  But  according  to  the  pre- 
vailing opinion,  as  represented  in  the  first  and 
third  synoptists,  the  relationship  was  just  the 
other  way.  With  greater  apparent  plausibility, 
the  divine  aeon  was  substituted  for  the  human 
father,  and  a  myth  sprang  up,  of  which  the  ma- 
terialistic details  furnished  to  the  opponents  of 
the  new  religion  an  opportunity  for  making  the 
most  gross  and  exasperating  insinuations.  The 
dominance  of  this  theory  marks  the  era  at  which 
our  first  and  third  synoptic  gospels  were  com- 
posed,—  from  sixty  to  ninety  years  after  the 
death  of  Jesus.  In  the  luxuriant  mythologic 
growth  there  exhibited,  we  may  yet  trace  the 
various  successive  phases  of  Christologic  specu- 
lation but  imperfectly  blended.  In  "  Matthew  " 
and  "  Luke "  we  find  the  original  Messianic 
theory  exemplified  in  the  genealogies  of  Jesus,  in 
which,  contrary  to  historic  probability  (cf.  Matt. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

xxii.  41-46),  but  in  accordance  with  a  time-hon- 
oured tradition,  his  pedigree  is  traced  back  to 
David  ;  "  Matthew  "  referring  him  to  the  royal 
line  of  Judah,  while  "  Luke  "  more  cautiously 
has  recourse  to  an  assumed  younger  branch. 
Superposed  upon  this  primitive  mythologic  stra- 
tum, we  find,  in  the  same  narratives,  the  account 
of  the  descent  of  the  pneuma  at  the  time  of  the 
baptism  ;  and  crowning  the  whole,  there  are  the 
two  accounts  of  the  nativity  which,  though  con- 
flicting in  nearly  all  their  details,  agree  in  repre- 
senting the  divine  pueuma  as  the  father  of  Jesus. 
Of  these  three  stages  of  Christology,  the  last 
becomes  entirely  irreconcilable  with  the  first ; 
and  nothing  can  better  illustrate  the  uncritical 
character  of  the  synoptists  than  the  fact  that  the 
assumed  descent  of  Jesus  from  David  through 
his  father  Joseph  is  allowed  to  stand  side  by  side 
with  the  account  of  the  miraculous  conception 
which  completely  negatives  it.  Of  this  difficulty 
"  Matthew  "  is  quite  unconscious,  and  "  Luke," 
while  vaguely  noticing  it  (iii.  23),  proposes  no 
solution,  and  appears  undisturbed  by  the  con- 
tradiction. 

Thus  far  the  Christology  with  which  we  have 
been  dealing  is  predominantly  Jewish,  though 
to  some  extent  influenced  by  Hellenic  concep- 
tions. None  of  the  successive  doctrines  pre- 
sented in  Paul, "  Matthew,"  and  "  Luke"  assert 
or  imply  the  pre-existence  of  Jesus.  At  this 
'54 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

early  period  he  was  regarded  as  a  human  being 
raised  to  participation  in  certain  attributes  of 
divinity ;  and  this  was  as  far  as  the  dogma  could 
be  carried  by  the  Jewish  metaphysics.  But  soon 
after  the  date  of  our  third  gospel,  a  Hellenic 
system  of  Christology  arose  into  prominence, 
in  which  the  problem  was  reversed,  and  Jesus 
was  regarded  as  a  semi-divine  being  temporarily 
lowered  to  participation  in  certain  attributes  of 
humanity.  For  such  a  doctrine  Jewish  mythol- 
ogy supplied  no  precedents ;  but  the  Indo-Eu- 
ropean mind  was  familiar  with  the  conception 
of  deity  incarnate  in  human  form,  as  in  the  ava- 
tars of  Vishnu,  or  even  suffering  in  the  interests 
of  humanity,  as  in  the  noble  myth  of  Prome- 
theus. The  elements  of  Christology  pre-exist- 
ing in  the  religious  conceptions  of  Greece,  India, 
and  Persia,  are  too  rich  and  numerous  to  be 
discussed  here.  A  very  full  account  of  them  is 
given  in  Mr.  R.  W.  Mackay's  acute  and  learned 
treatise  on  the  "  Religious  Development  of  the 
Greeks  and  Hebrews." 

It  was  in  Alexandria,  where  Jewish  theology 
first  came  into  contact  with  Hellenic  and  Ori- 
ental ideas,  that  the  way  was  prepared  for  the 
dogma  of  Christ's  pre-existence.  The  attempt 
to  rationalize  the  conception  of  deity  as  em- 
bodied in  the  Jehovah  of  the  Old  Testament 
gave  rise  to  the  class  of  opinions  described  as 
Gnosis,  or  Gnosticism.  The  signification  of 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Gnosts  is  simply  "  rationalism,"  —  the  endeav- 
our to  harmonize  the  materialistic  statements  of 
an  old  mythology  with  the  more  advanced  spir- 
itualistic philosophy  of  the  time.  The  Gnostics 
rejected  the  conception  of  an  anthropomorphic 
deity  who  had  appeared  visibly  and  audibly  to 
the  patriarchs ;  and  they  were  the  authors  of 
the  doctrine,  very  widely  spread  during  the  sec- 
ond and  third  centuries,  that  God  could  not  in 
person  have  been  the  creator  of  the  world.  Ac- 
cording to  them,  God,  as  pure  spirit,  could  not 
act  directly  upon  vile  and  gross  matter.  The 
difficulty  which  troubled  them  was  curiously 
analogous  to  that  which  disturbed  the  Cartesians 
and  the  followers  of  Leibnitz  in  the  seventeenth 
century ;  how  was  spirit  to  act  upon  matter, 
without  ceasing,  fro  tanto,  to  be  spirit  ?  To 
evade  this  difficulty,  the  Gnostics  postulated  a 
series  of  emanations  from  God,  becoming  suc- 
cessively less  and  less  spiritual  and  more  and 
more  material,  until  at  the  lowest  end  of  the 
scale  was  reached  the  Demiurgus  or  Jehovah 
of  the  Old  Testament,  who  created  the  world 
and  appeared,  clothed  in  material  form,  to  the 
patriarchs.  According  to  some  of  the  Gnostics 
this  lowest  aeon  or-  emanation  was  identical  with 
the  Jewish  Satan,  or  the  Ahriman  of  the  Per- 
sians, who  is  called  "  the  prince  of  this  world," 
and  the  creation  of  the  world  was  an  essentially 
evil  act.  But  all  did  not  share  in  these  extreme 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

opinions.  In  the  prevailing  theory,  this  last  of 
the  divine  emanations  was  identified  with  the 
"  Sophia,"  or  personified  "  Wisdom,"  of  the 
Book  of  Proverbs  (viii.  22— 30),  who  is  described 
as  present  with  God  before  the  foundation  of 
the  world.  The  totality  of  these  aeons  consti- 
tuted thepleroma,  or  "  fulness  of  God  "  (Coloss. 
i.  20  ;  Eph.  i.  23),  and  in  a  corollary  which  bears 
unmistakable  marks  of  Buddhist  influence,  it 
was  argued  that,  in  the  final  consummation  of 
things,  matter  should  be  eliminated  and  all 
spirit  reunited  with  God,  from  whom  it  had  pri- 
marily flowed. 

It  was  impossible  that  such  views  as  these 
should  not  soon  be  taken  up  and  applied  to  the 
fluctuating  Christology  of  the  time.  According 
to  the  "Shepherd  of  Hermas,"  an  apocalyptic 
writing  nearly  contemporary  with  the  gospel  of 
"  Mark,"  the  aeon  or  son  of  God  who  existed 
previous  to  the  creation  was  not  the  Christ,  or 
the  Sophia,  but  the  Pneuma  or  Holy  Spirit,  re- 
presented in  the  Old  Testament  as  the  "  angel 
of  Jehovah."  Jesus,  in  reward  for  his  perfect 
goodness,  was  admitted  to  a  share  in  the  privi- 
leges of  this  Pneuma  (Reville,  p.  39).  Here,  as 
M.  Reville  observes,  though  a  Gnostic  idea  is 
adopted,  Jesus  is  nevertheless  viewed  as  ascend- 
ing humanity,  and  not  as  descending  divinity. 
The  author  of  the  "  Clementine  Homilies  "  ad- 
vances a  step  farther,  and  clearly  assumes  the  pre- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

existence  of  Jesus,  who,  in  his  opinion,  was  the 
pure,  primitive  man,  successively  incarnate  in 
Adam,  Enoch,  Noah,  Abraham,  Isaac,  Jacob, 
Moses,  and  finally  in  the  Messiah  or  Christ. 
The  author  protests,  in  vehement  language, 
against  those  Hellenists  who,  misled  by  their 
polytheistic  associations,  would  elevate  Jesus  into 
a  god.  Nevertheless,  his  own  hypothesis  of  pre- 
existence  supplied  at  once  the  requisite  fulcrum 
for  those  Gnostics  who  wished  to  reconcile  a  strict 
monotheism  with  the  ascription  of  divine  attri- 
butes to  Jesus.  Combining  with  this  notion  of 
pre-existence  the  pneumatic  or  spiritual  quality 
attributed  to  Jesus  in  the  writings  of  Paul,  the 
Gnosticizing  Christians  maintained  that  Christ 
was  an  aeon  or  emanation  from  God,  redeeming 
men  from  the  consequences  entailed  by  their 
imprisonment  in  matter.  At  this  stage  of  Chris- 
tologic  speculation  appeared  the  anonymous 
epistle  to  the  "  Hebrews,"  and  the  pseudo- 
Pauline  epistles  to  the  "  Colossians,"  "  Ephe- 
sians,"  and  "  Philippians  "  (A.  D.  130).  In  these 
epistles,  which  originated  among  the  Pauline 
Christians,  the  Gnostic  theosophy  is  skilfully 
applied  to  the  Pauline  conception  of  the  scope 
and  purposes  of  Christianity.  Jesus  is  de- 
scribed as  the  creator  of  the  world  (Coloss. 
i.  1 6),  the  visible  image  of  the  invisible  God, 
the  chief  and  ruler  of  the  "  thrones,  dominions, 
principalities,  and  powers,"  into  which,  in  Gnos- 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

tic  phraseology,  the  emanations  of  God  were 
classified.  Or,  according  to  "  Colossians- "  and 
"  Philippians,"  all  the  aeons  are  summed  up  in 
him,  in  whom  dwells  the  pleroma,  or  "  fulness 
of  God."  Thus  Jesus  is  elevated  quite  above 
ordinary  humanity,  and  a  close  approach  is 
made  to  ditheism,  although  he  is  still  emphat- 
ically subordinated  to  God  by  being  made  the 
creator  of  the  world,  —  an  office  then  regarded 
as  incompatible  with  absolute  divine  perfection. 
In  the  celebrated  passage,  "  Philippians  "  ii.  6— 
1 1,  the  aeon  Jesus  is  described  as  being  the  form 
or  visible  manifestation  of  God,  yet  as  humbling 
himself  by  taking  on  the  form  or  semblance  of 
humanity,  and  suffering  death,  in  return  for 
which  he  is  to  be  exalted  even  above  the  arch- 
angels. A  similar  view  is  taken  in  "  Hebrews  ;  " 
and  it  is  probable  that  to  the  growing  favour 
with  which  these  doctrines  were  received,  we 
owe  the  omission  of  the  miraculous  conception 
from  the  gospel  of"  Mark,"  —  a  circumstance 
which  has  misled  some  critics  into  assigning  to 
that  gospel  an  earlier  date  than  to  "  Matthew  " 
and  "  Luke."  Yet  the  fact  that  in  this  gospel 
Jesus  is  implicitly  ranked  above  the  angels 
(Mark  xiii.  32),  reveals  a  later  stage  of  Chris- 
tologic  doctrine  than  that  reached  by  the  first 
and  third  synoptists  ;  and  it  is  altogether  prob- 
able that,  in  accordance  with  the  noticeable  con- 
ciliatory disposition  of  this  evangelist,  the  su- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

pernatural  conception  is  omitted  out  of  deference 
to  the  Gnosticizing  theories  of  "Colossians" 
and  "  Philippians,"  in  which  this  materialistic 
doctrine  seems  to  have  had  no  assignable  place. 
In  "  Philippians  "  especially,  many  expressions 
seem  to  verge  upon  Docetism,  the  extreme  form 
of  Gnosticism,  according  to  which  the  human 
body  of  Jesus  was  only  a  phantom.  Valenti- 
nus,  who  was  contemporary  with  the  Pauline 
writers  of  the  second  century,  maintained  that 
Jesus  was  not  born  of  Mary  by  any  process  of 
conception,  but  merely  passed  through  her,  as 
light  traverses  a  translucent  substance.  And 
finally  Marcion  (A.  D.  140)  carried  the  theory 
to  its  extreme  limits  by  declaring  that  Jesus  was 
the  pure  Pneuma  or  Spirit,  who  contained  no- 
thing in  common  with  carnal  humanity. 

The  pseudo-Pauline  writers  steered  clear  of 
this  extravagant  doctrine,  which  erred  by  break- 
ing entirely  with  historic  tradition,  and  was 
consequently  soon  condemned  as  heretical. 
Their  language,  though  unmistakably  Gnostic, 
was  sufficiently  neutral  and  indefinite  to  allow 
of  their  combination  with  earlier  and  later  ex- 
positions of  dogma,  and  they  were  therefore 
eventually  received  into  the  canon,  where  they 
exhibit  a  stage  of  opinion  midway  between  that 
of  Paul  and  that  of  the  fourth  gospel. 

For  the  construction  of  a  durable  system  of 
Christology,  still  further  elaboration  was  neces- 
160 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

sary.  The  pre-existence  of  Jesus,  as  an  emana- 
tion from  God,  in  whom  were  summed  up  the 
attributes  of  the  pleroma  or  full  scale  of  Gnostic 
aeons,  was  now  generally  conceded.  But  the 
relation  of  this  pleroma  to  the  Godhead  of  which 
it  was  the  visible  manifestation  needed  to  be 
more  accurately  defined.  And  here  recourse 
was  had  to  the  conception  of  the  Logos,  —  a 
notion  which  Philo  had  borrowed  from  Plato, 
lending  to  it  a  theosophic  significance.  In  the 
Platonic  metaphysics  objective  existence  was 
attributed  to  general  terms,  the  signs  of  general 
notions.  Besides  each  particular  man,  horse, 
or  tree,  and  besides  all  men,  horses,  and  trees, 
in  the  aggregate,  there  was  supposed  to  exist  an 
ideal  Man,  Horse,  and  Tree.  Each  particular 
man,  horse,  or  tree  consisted  of  abstract  existence 
plus  a  portion  of  the  ideal  man,  horse,  or  tree. 
Sokrates,  for  instance,  consisted  of  Existence, 
plus  Animality,  plus  Humanity,  plus  Sokra- 
ticity.  The  visible  world  of  particulars  thus 
existed  only  by  virtue  of  its  participation  in  the 
attributes  of  the  ideal  world  of  universals.  God 
created  the  world  by  encumbering  each  idea 
with  an  envelopment  or  clothing  of  visible 
matter  ;  and  since  matter  is  vile  or  imperfect, 
all  things  are  more  or  less  perfect  as  they  par- 
take more  or  less  fully  of  the  idea.  The  pure 
unencumbered  idea,  the  "  Idea  of  ideas,"  is  the 
Logos,  or  divine  Reason,  which  represents  the 
161 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

sum-total  of  the  activities  which  sustain  the 
world,  and  serves  as  a  mediator  between  the 
absolutely  ideal  God  and  the  absolutely  non- 
ideal  matter.  Here  we  arrive  at  a  Gnostic  con- 
ception, which  the  Philonists  of  Alexandria 
were  not  slow  to  appropriate.  The  Logos,  or 
divine  Reason,  was  identified  with  the  Sophia, 
or  divine  Wisdom  of  the  Jewish  Gnostics, 
which  had  dwelt  with  God  before  the  creation 
of  the  world.  By  a  subtle  play  upon  the  double 
meaning  of  the  Greek  term  (logos  =  "  reason  " 
or  "  word  "),  a  distinction  was  drawn  between 
the  divine  Reason  and  the  divine  Word.  The 
former  was  the  archetypal  idea  or  thought  of 
God,  existing  from  all  eternity ;  the  latter  was 
the  external  manifestation  or  realization  of  that 
idea  which  occurred  at  the  moment  of  creation, 
when,  according  to  Genesis,  God  spoke,  and  the 
world  was. 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  century,  this 
Philonian  theory  was  the  one  thing  needful  to 
add  metaphysical  precision  to  the  Gnostic  and 
Pauline  speculations  concerning  the  nature  of 
Jesus.  In  the  writings  of  Justin  Martyr  (A.  D. 
150—166),  Jesus  is  for  the  first  time  identified 
with  the  Philonian  Logos  or  "  Word  of  God." 
According  to  Justin,  an  impassable  abyss  ex- 
ists between  the  Infinite  Deity  and  the  Finite 
World ;  the  one  cannot  act  upon  the  other ; 
pure  spirit  cannot  contaminate  itself  by  contact 
162 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

with  impure  matter.  To  meet  this  difficulty, 
God  evolves  from  himself  a  secondary  God,  the 
Logos,  —  yet  without  diminishing  himself  any 
more  than  a  flame  is  diminished  when  it  gives 
birth  to  a  second  flame.  Thus  generated,  like 
light  begotten  of  light  (lumen  de  lumine),  the 
Logos  creates  the  world,  inspires  the  ancient 
prophets  with  their  divine  revelations,  and 
finally  reveals  himself  to  mankind  in  the  person 
of  Christ.  Yet  Justin  sedulously  guards  him- 
self against  ditheism,  insisting  frequently  and 
emphatically  upon  the  immeasurable  inferiority 
of  the  Logos  as  compared  with  the  actual  God 
(6  OVTGDS  #eos). 

We  have  here  reached  very  nearly  the  ulti- 
mate phase  of  New  Testament  speculation  con- 
cerning Jesus.  The  doctrines  enunciated  by 
Justin  became  eventually,  with  slight  modifica- 
tion, the  official  doctrines  of  the  Church  ;  yet 
before  they  could  thus  be  received,  some  further 
elaboration  was  needed.  The  pre-existing  Lo- 
gos-Christ of  Justin  was  no  longer  the  human 
Messiah  of  the  first  and  third  gospels,  born  of 
a  woman,  inspired  by  the  divine  Pneuma,  and 
tempted  by  the  Devil.  There  was  danger  that 
Christologic  speculation  might  break  quite  loose 
from  historic  tradition,  and  pass  into  the  meta- 
physical extreme  of  Docetism.  Had  this  come 
to  pass,  there  might  perhaps  have  been  a  fatal 
schism  in  the  Church.  Tradition  still  remained 

163 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Ebionitish  ;  dogma  had  become  decidedly  Gnos- 
tic ;  how  were  the  two  to  be  moulded  into  har- 
mony with  each  other  ?  Such  was  the  problem 
which  presented  itself  to  the  author  of  the 
fourth  gospel  (A.  D.  170-180).  As  M.  Re- 
ville  observes,  "  if  the  doctrine  of  the  Logos 
were  really  to  be  applied  to  the  person  of 
Jesus,  it  was  necessary  to  remodel  the  evangel- 
ical history."  Tradition  must  be  moulded  so 
as  to  fit  the  dogma,  but  the  dogma  must  be 
restrained  by  tradition  from  running  into  Do- 
cetic  extravagance.  It  must  be  shown  histori- 
cally how  "the  Word  became  flesh  "  and  dwelt 
on  earth  (John  i.  14),  how  the  deeds  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth  were  the  deeds  of  the  incarnate  Logos, 
in  whom  was  exhibited  the  pleroma  or  fulness 
of  the  divine  attributes.  The  author  of  the 
fourth  gospel  is,  like  Justin,  a  Philonian  Gnos- 
tic ;  but  he  differs  from  Justin  in  his  bold  and 
skilful  treatment  of  the  traditional  materials 
supplied  by  the  earlier  gospels.  The  process 
of  development  in  the  theories  and  purposes  of 
Jesus,  which  can  be  traced  throughout  the 
Messianic  descriptions  of  the  first  gospel,  is 
entirely  obliterated  in  the  fourth.  Here  Jesus 
appears  at  the  outset  as  the  creator  of  the 
world,  descended  from  his  glory,  but  destined 
soon  to  be  reinstated.  The  title  "  Son  of  Man  " 
has  lost  its  original  significance,  and  become 
synonymous  with  "  Son  of  God."  The  temp- 
164 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

tation,  the  transfiguration,  the  scene  in  Geth- 
semane,  are  omitted,  and  for  the  latter  is  sub- 
stituted a  Philonian  prayer.  Nevertheless,  the 
author  carefully  avoids  the  extremes  of  Docet- 
ism  or  ditheism.  Not  only  does  he  represent 
the  human  life  of  Jesus  as  real,  and  his  death  as 
a  truly  physical  death,  but  he  distinctly  asserts 
the  inferiority  of  the  Son  to  the  Father  (John 
xiv.  28).  Indeed,  as  M.  Reville  well  observes, 
it  is  part  of  the  very  notion  of  the  Logos  that 
it  should  be  imperfect  relatively  to  the  absolute 
God ;  since  it  is  only  its  relative  imperfection 
which  allows  it  to  sustain  relations  to  the  world 
and  to  men  which  are  incompatible  with  abso- 
lute perfection,  from  the  Philonian  point  of 
view.  The  Athanasian  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
finds  no  support  in  the  fourth  gospel,  any 
more  than  in  the  earlier  books  collected  in  the 
New  Testament. 

The  fourth  gospel  completes  the  speculative 
revolution  by  which  the  conception  of  a  divine 
being  lowered  to  humanity  was  substituted  for 
that  of  a  human  being  raised  to  divinity.  We 
have  here  travelled  a  long  distance  from  the 
risen  Messiah  of  the  genuine  Pauline  epistles, 
or  the  preacher  of  righteousness  in  the  first 
gospel.  Yet  it  does  not  seem  probable  that  the 
Church  of  the  third  century  was  thoroughly 
aware  of  the  discrepancy.  The  authors  of  the 
later  Christology  did  not  regard  themselves  as 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

adding  new  truths  to  Christianity,  but  merely 
as  giving  a  fuller  and  more  consistent  interpre- 
tation to  what  must  have  been  known  from  the 
outset.  They  were  so  completely  destitute  of 
the  historic  sense,  and  so  strictly  confined  to 
the  dogmatic  point  of  view,  that  they  projected 
their  own  theories  back  into  the  past,  and  vitu- 
perated as  heretics  those  who  adhered  to  tradi- 
tion in  its  earlier  and  simpler  form.  Examples 
from  more  recent  times  are  not  wanting,  which 
show  that  we  are  dealing  here  with  an  invet- 
erate tendency  of  the  human  mind.  New  facts 
and  new  theories  are  at  first  condemned  as 
heretical  or  ridiculous ;  but  when  once  firmly 
established,  it  is  immediately  maintained  that 
every  one  knew  them  before.  After  the  Coper- 
nican  astronomy  had  won  the  day,  it  was  tacitly 
assumed  that  the  ancient  Hebrew  astronomy 
was  Copernican,  and  the  Biblical  conception  of 
the  universe  as  a  kind  of  three-story  house  was 
ignored,  and  has  been,  except  by  scholars,  quite 
forgotten.  When  the  geologic  evidence  of  the 
earth's  immense  antiquity  could  no  longer  be 
gainsaid,  it  was  suddenly  ascertained  that  the 
Bible  had  from  the  outset  asserted  that  anti- 
quity ;  and  in  our  own  day  we  have  seen  an  ele- 
gant popular  writer  perverting  the  testimony 
of  the  rocks  and  distorting  the  Elohistic  cos- 
mogony of  the  Pentateuch,  until  the  twain  have 
been  made  to  furnish  what  Bacon  long  ago  de- 
166 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

scribed  as  "  a  heretical  religion  and  a  false  phi- 
losophy." Now  just  as  in  the  popular  thought 
of  the  present  day  the  ancient  Elohist  is  accredi- 
ted with  a  knowledge  of  modern  geology  and 
astronomy,  so  in  the  opinion  of  the  fourth 
evangelist  and  his  contemporaries  the  doctrine 
of  the  Logos-Christ  was  implicitly  contained 
in  the  Old  Testament  and  in  the  early  tradi- 
tions concerning  Jesus,  and  needed  only  to  be 
brought  into  prominence  by  a  fresh  interpre- 
tation. Hence  arose  the  fourth  gospel,  which 
was  no  more  a  conscious  violation  of  historic 
data  than  Hugh  Miller's  imaginative  descrip- 
tion of  the  "  Mosaic  Vision  of  Creation."  Its 
metaphysical  discourses  were  readily  accepted 
as  equally  authentic  with  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mount.  Its  Philonian  doctrines  were  imputed 
to  Paul  and  the  apostles,  the  pseudo-Pauline 
epistles  furnishing  the  needful  texts.  The  Ebi- 
onites  —  who  were  simply  Judaizing  Christians, 
holding  in  nearly  its  original  form  the  doctrine 
of  Peter,  James,  and  John  —  were  ejected  from 
the  Church  as  the  most  pernicious  of  heretics ; 
and  so  completely  was  their  historic  position 
misunderstood  and  forgotten,  that,  in  order  to 
account  for  their  existence,  it  became  necessary 
to  invent  an  eponymous  heresiarch,  Ebion,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  led  them  astray  from  the 
true  faith  ! 

The  Christology  of  the  fourth  gospel  is  sub- 
167 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

stantially  the  same  as  that  which  was  held  in 
the  next  two  centuries  by  Tertullian,  Clement 
of  Alexandria,  Origen,  and  Arius.  When  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity  was  first  announced  by 
Sabellius  (A.  D.  250—260),  it  was  formally  con- 
demned as  heretical,  the  Church  being  not  yet 
quite  prepared  to  receive  it.  In  269  the  Council 
of  Antioch  solemnly  declared  that  the  Son  was 
not  consubstantial  with  the  Father,  —  a  declara- 
tion which,  within  sixty  years,  the  Council  of 
Nikaia  was  destined  as  solemnly  to  contradict. 
The  Trinitarian  Christology  struggled  long  for 
acceptance,  and  did  not  finally  win  the  victory 
until  the  end  of  the  fourth  century.  Yet  from 
the  outset  its  ultimate  victory  was  hardly  doubt- 
ful. The  peculiar  doctrines  of  the  fourth  gos- 
pel could  retain  their  integrity  only  so  long  as 
Gnostic  ideas  were  prevalent.  When  Gnosti- 
cism declined  in  importance,  and  its  theories 
faded  out  of  recollection,  its  peculiar  phrase- 
ology received  of  necessity  a  new  interpretation. 
The  doctrine  that  God  could  not  act  directly 
upon  the  world  sank  gradually  into  oblivion 
as  the  Church  grew  more  and  more  hostile  to 
the  Neo-Platonic  philosophy.  And  when  this 
theory  was  once  forgotten,  it  was  inevitable  that 
the  Logos,  as  the  Creator  of  the  world,  should 
be  raised  to  an  equality  or  identity  with  God 
himself.  In  the  view  of  the  fourth  evangelist, 
the  Creator  was  necessarily  inferior  to  God ;  in 
168 


THE  CHRIST  OF  DOGMA 

the  view  of  later  ages,  the  Creator  could  be 
none  other  than  God.  And  so  the  very  phrases 
which  had  most  emphatically  asserted  the  sub- 
ordination of  the  Son  were  afterward  interpreted 
as  asserting  his  absolute  divinity.  To  the  Gnos- 
tic formula,  lumen  de  luminey  was  added  the 
Athanasian  scholium,  Deum  verum  de  Deo  vero ; 
and  the  Trinitarian  dogma  of  the  union  of  per- 
sons in  a  single  Godhead  became  thus  the  only 
available  logical  device  for  preserving  the  purity 
of  monotheism. 

February,  1870. 


169 


A  WORD   ABOUT   MIRACLES1 

IT  is  the  lot  of  every  book  which  attempts  to 
treat  the  origin  and  progress  of  Christianity 
in  a  sober  and  scientific  spirit  to  meet  with 
unsparing  attacks.  Critics  in  plenty  are  always 
to  be  found,  who,  possessed  with  the  idea  that 
the  entire  significance  and  value  of  the  Christian 
religion  are  demolished  unless  we  regard  it  as  a 
sort  of  historical  monstrosity,  are  only  too  eager 
to  subject  the  offending  work  to  a  scathing  scru- 
tiny, displaying  withal  a  modicum  of  righteous 
indignation  at  the  unblushing  heresy  of  the  au- 
thor, not  unmixed  with  a  little  scornful  pity  at 
his  inability  to  believe  very  preposterous  stories 
upon  very  meagre  evidence.  "  Conservative  " 
polemics  of  this  sort  have  doubtless  their  func- 
tion. They  serve  to  purge  scientific  literature 
of  the  awkward  and  careless  statements  too  often 
made  by  writers  not  sufficiently  instructed  or 
cautious,  which  in  the  absence  of  hostile  criti- 

1  These  comments  on  Mr.  Henry  Rogers' s  review  of  M. 
Kenan's  Les  Apotres,  contained  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Lewes, 
were  shortly  afterwards  published  by  him  in  the  Fortnightly 
Review,  September  15,  1866. 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES 

cism  might  get  accepted  by  the  unthinking  reader 
along  with  the  truths  which  they  accompany. 
Most  scientific  and  philosophical  works  have 
their  defects  ;  and  it  is  fortunate  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  dogmatic  ardour  in  the  world, 
ever  sharpening  its  wits  to  the  utmost,  that  it 
may  spy  each  lurking  inaccuracy  and  ruthlessly 
drag  it  to  light.  But  this  useful  spirit  is  wont 
to  lead  those  who  are  inspired  by  it  to  shoot  be- 
yond the  mark,  and  after  pointing  out  the  errors 
of  others,  to  commit  fresh  mistakes  of  their  own. 
In  the  skilful  criticism  of  M.  Kenan's  work  on 
the  Apostles,  in  No.  29  of  the  "  Fortnightly 
Review,"  there  is  now  and  then  a  vulnerable 
spot  through  which  a  controversial  shaft  may 
perhaps  be  made  to  pierce. 

It  may  be  true  that  Lord  Lyttel ton's  tract  on 
the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul,  as  Dr.  Johnson 
and  Mr.  Rogers  have  said,  has  never  yet  been 
refuted ;  but  if  I  may  judge  from  my  own  re- 
collection of  the  work,  I  should  say  that  this  must 
be  because  no  competent  writer  ever  thought  it 
worth  his  pains  to  criticise  it.  Its  argument  con- 
tains about  as  much  solid  consistency  as  a  dis- 
tended balloon,  and  collapses  as  readily  at  the 
first  puncture.  It  attempts  to  prove,  first,  that 
the  conversion  of  St.  Paul  cannot  be  made  in- 
telligible except  on  the  assumption  that  there 
was  a  miracle  in  the  case  ;  and  secondly,  that  if 
Paul  was  converted  by  a  miracle,  the  truth  of 
171 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Christianity  is  impregnable.  Now,  if  the  first  of 
these  points  be  established,  the  demonstration  is 
not  yet  complete,  for  the  second  point  must  be 
proved  independently.  But  if  the  first  point  be 
overthrown,  the  second  loses  its  prop  and  falls 
likewise. 

Great  efforts  are  therefore  made  to  show  that 
no  natural  influences  could  have  intervened  to 
bring  about  a  change  in  the  feelings  of  Paul. 
He  was  violent, "  thorough,"  unaffected  by  pity 
or  remorse  ;  and  accordingly  he  could  not  have 
been  so  completely  altered  as  he  was  had  he  not 
actually  beheld  the  risen  Christ :  such  is  the  ar- 
gument which  Mr.  Rogers  deems  so  conclusive. 
I  do  not  know  that  from  any  of  Paul's  own  as- 
sertions we  are  entitled  to  affirm  that  no  shade 
of  remorse  had  ever  crossed  his  mind  previous 
to  the  vision  near  Damascus.  But  waiving  this 
point,  I  do  maintain  that,  granting  Paul's  feel- 
ings to  have  been  as  Mr.  Rogers  thinks  they 
were,  his  conversion  is  inexplicable,  even  on 
the  hypothesis  of  a  miracle.  He  that  is  deter- 
mined not  to  believe,  will  not  believe,  though 
one  should  rise  from  the  dead.  To  make  Paul 
a  believer,  it  was  not  enough  that  he  should 
meet  his  Lord  face  to  face  :  he  must  have  been 
already  prepared  to  believe.  Otherwise  he 
would  have  easily  found  means  of  explaining 
the  miracle  from  his  own  point  of  view.  He 
would  certainly  have  attributed  it  to  the  wiles 
172 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES 

of  the  demon,  even  as  the  Pharisees  are  said  to 
have  done  with  regard  to  the  miraculous  cures 
performed  by  Jesus.  A  "  miraculous  "  occur- 
rence in  those  days  did  not  astonish  as  it  would 
at  present.  "  Miracles  "  were  rather  the  order 
of  the  day,  and  in  fact  were  lavished  with  such 
extreme  bounty  on  all  hands  that  their  convin- 
cing power  was  very  slight.  Neither  side  ever 
thought  of  disputing  the  reality  of  the  miracles 
supposed  to  be  performed  on  the  other  ;  but 
each  side  considered  the  miracles  of  its  antago- 
nist to  be  the  work  of  diabolic  agencies.  Such 
being  the  case,  it  is  useless  to  suppose  that  Paul 
could  have  distinguished  between  a  true  and  a 
false  miracle,  or  that  a  real  miracle  could  of  it- 
self have  had  any  effect  in  inducing  him  to  de- 
part from  his  habitual  course  of  belief  and  action. 
As  far  as  Paul's  mental  operations  were  con- 
cerned, it  could  have  made  no  difference  whether 
he  met  with  his  future  Master  in  person,  or 
merely  encountered  him  in  a  vision.  The  sole 
point  to  be  considered  is  whether  or  not  he  be- 
lieved in  the  Divine  character  and  authority  of 
the  event  which  had  happened.  What  the  event 
might  have  really  been  was  of  no  practical  con- 
sequence to  him  or  to  any  one  else.  What  he 
believed  it  to  be  was  of  the  first  importance. 
And  since  he  did  believe  that  he  had  been  di- 
vinely summoned  to  cease  persecuting  and  com- 
mence preaching  the  new  faith,  it  follows  that 

173 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

his  state  of  mind  must  have  been  more  or  less 
affected  by  circumstances  other  than  the  mere 
vision.  Had  he  not  been  ripe  for  change,  neither 
shadow  nor  substance  could  have  changed  him. 
This  view  of  the  case  is  by  no  means  so  ex- 
travagant as  Mr.  Rogers  would  have  us  suppose. 
There  is  no  reason  for  believing  that  Paul's 
character  was  essentially  different  afterwards 
from  what  it  had  been  before.  The  very  fer- 
vour which  caused  him,  as  a  Pharisee,  to  exclude 
all  but  orthodox  Jews  from  the  hope  of  salvation 
would  lead  him,  as  a  Christian,  to  carry  the 
Christian  idea  to  its  extreme  development,  and 
admit  all  persons  whatever  to  the  privileges  of 
the  Church.  The  same  zeal  for  the  truth  which 
had  urged  him  to  persecute  the  Christians  unto 
the  death  afterwards  led  him  to  spare  no  toil  and 
shun  no  danger  which  might  bring  about  the 
triumph  of  their  cause.  It  must  not  be  forgotten 
that  the  persecutor  and  the  martyr  are  but  one 
and  the  same  man  under  different  circumstances. 
He  who  is  ready  to  die  for  his  own  faith  will 
sometimes  think  it  fair  to  make  other  men  die 
for  theirs.  Men  of  a  vehement  and  fiery  tem- 
perament, moreover,  —  such  as  Paul  always 
was,  —  never  change  their  opinions  slowly, 
never  rest  in  philosophic  doubt,  never  take  a 
middle  course.  If  they  leave  one  extreme  for 
an  instant,  they  are  drawn  irresistibly  to  the 
other  ;  and  usually  very  little  is  needed  to  work 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES 

the  change.  The  conversion  of  Omar  is  a  strik- 
ing instance  in  point,  and  has  been  cited  by  M. 
Renan  himself.  The  character  of  Omar  bears  a 
strong  likeness  to  that  of  Paul.  Previous  to  his 
conversion,  he  was  a  conscientious  and  virulent 
persecutor  of  Mohammedanism.1  After  his  con- 
version, he  was  Mohammed's  most  efficient  dis- 
ciple, and  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  for  dis- 
interestedness and  self-abnegation  he  was  not 
inferior  to  the  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles.  The 
change  in  his  case  was,  moreover,  quite  as  sudden 
and  unexpected  as  it  was  with  Paul ;  it  was 
neither  more  nor  less  incomprehensible  ;  and  if 
Paul's  conversion  needs  a  miracle  to  explain  it, 
Omar's  must  need  one  likewise.  But  in  truth, 
there  is  no  difficulty  in  the  case,  save  that  which 
stupid  dogmatism  has  created.  The  conversions 
of  Paul  and  Omar  are  paralleled  by  innumerable 
events  which  occur  in  every  period  of  religious 
or  political  excitement.  Far  from  being  extraor- 
dinary, or  inexplicable  on  natural  grounds,  such 
phenomena  are  just  what  might  occasionally  be 
looked  for. 

But,  says  Mr.  Rogers,  "  is  it  possible  for  a 
moment  to  imagine  the  doting  and  dreaming 
victim  of  hallucinations  (which  M.  Renan's 
theory  represents  Paul)  to  be  the  man  whose 
masculine  sense,  strong  logic,  practical  pru- 
dence, and  high  administrative  talent  appear  in 
1  Saint-Hilaire  :  Mahomet  et  le  Cor  an,  p.  109. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  achievements  of  his  life,  and  in  the  Epistles 
he  has  left  behind  him?"  M.  Kenan's  theory 
does  not,  however,  represent  Paul  as  the  "  vic- 
tim of  hallucinations  "  to  a  greater  degree  than 
Mohammed.  The  latter,  as  every  one  knows, 
laboured  during  much  of  his  life  under  almost 
constant  "  hallucination  ;  "  yet  "  masculine 
sense,  strong  logic,"  etc.,  were  qualities  quite 
as  conspicuous  in  him  as  in  St.  Paul. 

Here,  as  throughout  his  essay,  Mr.  Rogers 
shows  himself  totally  unable  to  comprehend 
the  mental  condition  of  men  in  past  ages.  If 
an  Apostle  has  a  dream  or  sees  a  vision,  and 
interprets  it  according  to  the  ideas  of  his  time 
and  country,  instead  of  according  to  the  ideas 
of  scientific  England  in  the  nineteenth  century, 
Mr.  Rogers  thinks  he  must  needs  be  mad : 
and  when,  according  to  the  well-known  law 
that  mental  excitement  is  contagious,1  several 
persons  are  said  to  have  concurred  in  inter- 
preting some  phenomenon  supernaturally,  Mr. 
Rogers  cannot  see  why  so  many  people  should 
all  go  mad  at  once !  "  To  go  mad,"  in  fact,  is 
his  favourite  designation  for  a  mental  act  which 
nearly  all  the  human  race  have  habitually  per- 
formed in  all  ages  ;  the  act  of  mistaking  sub- 
jective impressions  for  outward  realities.  The 
disposition  to  regard  all  strange  phenomena 
as  manifestations  of  supernatural  power  was 

1  Hecker's  Epidemics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  pp.  87-125. 

176 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES 

universally  prevalent  in  the  first  century  of 
Christianity,  and  long  after.  Neither  greatness 
of  intellect  nor  thoroughness  of  scepticism  gave 
exemption.  Even  Julius  Caesar,  the  greatest 
practical  genius  that  ever  lived,  was  some- 
what superstitious,  despite  his  atheism  and  his 
vigorous  common-sense.  It  is  too  often  ar- 
gued that  the  prevalence  of  scepticism  in  the 
Roman  Empire  must  have  made  men  scrupu- 
lous about  accepting  miracles.  By  no  means. 
Nothing  but  physical  science  ever  drives  out 
miracles  :  mere  doctrinal  scepticism  is  power- 
less to  do  it.  In  the  age  of  the  Apostles, 
little  if  any  radical  distinction  was  drawn  be- 
tween a  miracle  and  an  ordinary  occurrence. 
No  one  supposed  a  miracle  to  be  an  infrac- 
tion of  the  laws  of  nature,  for  no  one  had 
a  clear  idea  that  there  were  such  things  as  laws 
of  nature.  A  miracle  was  simply  an  extraor- 
dinary act,  exhibiting  the  power  of  the  person 
who  performed  it.  Blank,  indeed,  would  the 
evangelists  have  looked,  had  any  one  told  them 
what  an  enormous  theory  of  systematic  med- 
dling with  nature  was  destined  to  grow  out  of 
their  beautiful  and  artless  narratives. 

The  incapacity  to  appreciate  this  frame  of 
mind  renders  the  current  arguments  in  behalf 
of  miracles  utterly  worthless.  From  the  fact 
that  Celsus  and  others  never  denied  the  reality 
of  the  Christian  miracles,  it  is  commonly  in- 
177 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ferred  that  those  miracles  must  have  actually 
happened.  The  same  argument  would,  how- 
ever, equally  apply  to  the  miracles  of  Apol- 
lonius  and  Simon  Magus,  for  the  Christians 
never  denied  the  reality  of  these.  What  these 
facts  really  prove  is  that  the  state  of  human 
intelligence  was  as  I  have  just  described  it : 
and  the  inference  to  be  drawn  from  them  is 
that  no  miraculous  account  emanating  from  an 
author  of  such  a  period  is  worthy  of  serious 
attention.  When  Mr.  Rogers  supposes  that  if 
the  miracles  had  not  really  happened  they 
would  have  been  challenged,  he  is  assuming 
that  a  state  of  mind  existed  in  which  it  was 
possible  for  miracles  to  be  challenged ;  and 
thus  commits  an  anachronism  as  monstrous  as 
if  he  had  attributed  the  knowledge  of  some 
modern  invention,  such  as  steamboats,  to  those 
early  ages. 

Mr.  Rogers  seems  to  complain  of  M.  Renan 
for  "  quietly  assuming  "  that  miracles  are  in- 
variably to  be  rejected.  Certainly  a  historian 
of  the  present  day  who  should  not  make  such 
an  assumption  would  betray  his  lack  of  the 
proper  qualifications  for  his  profession.  It  is 
not  considered  necessary  for  every  writer  to 
begin  his  work  by  setting  out  to  prove  the 
first  principles  of  historical  criticism.  They  are 
taken  for  granted.  And,  as  M.  Renan  justly 
says,  a  miracle  is  one  of  those  things  which 
178 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES 

must  be  disbelieved  until  it  is  proved.  The 
onus  probandi  lies  on  the  assertor  of  a  fact 
which  conflicts  with  universal  experience. 
Nevertheless,  the  great  number  of  intelligent 
persons  who,  even  now,  from  dogmatic  rea- 
sons, accept  the  New  Testament  miracles,  for- 
bids that  they  should  be  passed  over  in  silence 
like  similar  phenomena  elsewhere  narrated. 
But,  in  the  present  state  of  historical  science, 
the  arguing  against  miracles  is,  as  Colet  re- 
marked of  his  friend  Erasmus's  warfare  against 
the  Thomists  and  Scotists  of  Cambridge,  "  a 
contest  more  necessary  than  glorious  or  diffi- 
cult." To  be  satisfactorily  established,  a  mira- 
cle needs  at  least  to  be  recorded  by  an  eye- 
witness ;  and  the  mental  attainments  of  the 
witness  need  to  be  thoroughly  known  besides. 
Unless  he  has  a  clear  conception  of  the  dif- 
ference between  the  natural  and  the  unnatural 
order  of  events,  his  testimony,  however  unim- 
peachable on  the  score  of  honesty,  is  still 
worthless.  To  say  that  this  condition  was  ful- 
filled by  those  who  described  the  New  Testa- 
ment miracles,  would  be  absurd.  And  in  the 
face  of  what  German  criticism  has  done  for  the 
early  Christian  documents,  it  would  be  an  ex- 
cess of  temerity  to  assert  that  any  one  of  the 
supernatural  accounts  contained  in  them  rests 
on  contemporary  authority.  Of  all  history, 
the  miraculous  part  should  be  attested  by  the 
179 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

strongest  testimony,  whereas  it  is  invariably 
attested  by  the  weakest.  And  the  paucity  of 
miracles  wherever  we  have  contemporary  rec- 
ords, as  in  the  case  of  primitive  Islamism,  is  a 
most  significant  fact. 

In  attempting  to  defend  his  principle  of 
never  accepting  a  miracle,  M.  Renan  has  in- 
deed got  into  a  sorry  plight,  and  Mr.  Rogers, 
in  controverting  him,  has  not  greatly  helped  the 
matter.  By  stirring  M.  Renan's  bemuddled 
pool,  Mr.  Rogers  has  only  bemuddled  it  the 
more.  Neither  of  these  excellent  writers  seems 
to  suspect  that  transmutation  of  species,  the 
geologic  development  of  the  earth,  and  other 
like  phenomena  do  not  present  features  con- 
flicting with  ordinary  experience.  Sir  Charles 
Lyell  and  Mr.  Darwin  would  be  greatly  as- 
tonished to  be  told  that  their  theories  of  in- 
organic  and  organic  evolution  involved  any 
agencies  not  known  to  exist  in  the  present 
course  of  nature.  The  great  achievement  of 
these  writers  has  been  to  show  that  all  past 
changes  of  the  earth  and  its  inhabitants  are  to 
be  explained  as  resulting  from  the  continuous 
action  of  causes  like  those  now  in  operation, 
and  that  throughout  there  has  been  nothing 
even  faintly  resembling  a  miracle.  M.  Renan 
may  feel  perfectly  safe  in  extending  his  prin- 
ciple back  to  the  beginning  of  things ;  and 
Mr.  Rogers's  argument,  even  if  valid  against 
1 80 


A  WORD  ABOUT  MIRACLES 

M.  Renan,  does  not  help  his  own  case  in  the 
least. 

On  some  points,  indeed,  M.  Renan  has  laid 
himself  open  to  severe  criticism,  and  on  other 
points  he  has  furnished  good  handles  for  his 
orthodox  opponents.  His  views  in  regard  to 
the  authorship  of  the  fourth  gospel  and  the 
Acts  are  not  likely  to  be  endorsed  by  many 
scholars  ;  and  his  revival  of  the  rationalistic 
absurdities  of  Paulus  merits  in  most  instances 
all  that  Mr.  Rogers  has  said  about  it.  As  was 
said  at  the  outset,  orthodox  criticisms  upon  het- 
erodox books  are  always  welcome.  They  do 
excellent  service.  And  with  the  feeling  which 
impels  their  authors  to  defend  their  favourite 
dogmas  with  every  available  weapon  of  contro- 
versy, I  for  one  can  heartily  sympathize.  Their 
zeal  in  upholding  what  they  consider  the  truth 
is  greatly  to  be  respected  and  admired.  But 
so  much  cannot  always  be  said  for  the  mode  of 
argumentation  they  adopt,  which  too  often  jus- 
tifies M.  Renan's  description,  when  he  says, 
u  Raisonnements  triomphants  sur  des  choses 
que  1'adversaire  n'a  pas  dites,  cris  de  victoire 
sur  des  erreurs  qu'il  n'a  pas  commises,  rien  ne 
parait  deloyal  a  celui  qui  croit  tenir  en  main 
les  interets  de  la  verite  absolue." 

August,  1866. 


181 


VI 


DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELI- 
GION1 

SOME  twelve  years  ago,  Dr.  Draper  pub- 
lished a  bulky  volume  entitled  "  A  His- 
tory of  the  Intellectual  Development  of 
Europe,"  in  which  his  professed  purpose  was 
to  show  that  nations  or  races  pass  through  cer- 
tain definable  epochs  of  development,  analogous 
to  the  periods  of  infancy,  childhood,  youth, 
manhood,  and  old  age  in  individuals.  But 
while  announced  with  due  formality,  the  carry- 
ing out  of  the  argument  was  left  for  the  most 
part  to  the  headings  and  running  titles  of  the 
several  chapters,  while  in  the  text  the  author 
peacefully  meandered  along  down  the  stream 
of  time,  giving  us  a  succession  of  pleasant 
though  somewhat  threadbare  anecdotes,  as  well 
as  a  superabundance  of  detached  and  fragmen- 
tary opinions  on  divers  historical  events,  having 
apparently  quite  forgotten  that  he  had  started 

1  History  of  the   Conflict  between  Religion  and  Science. 
By  John  William  Draper,  M.  D.,  LL.  D.      Fourth  edition. 
New  York:  D.  Appleton  &  Co.    1875.      izmo,  pp.  xxii, 
373.      (International  Scientific  Series,  xii.) 
182 


DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION 

with  a  thesis  to  prove.  In  the  arrangement  of 
his  "  running  heads,"  some  points  were  suffi- 
ciently curious  to  require  a  word  of  explanation, 
as,  for  example,  when  the  early  ages  of  Chris- 
tianity were  at  one  time  labelled  as  an  epoch  of 
progress  and  at  another  time  as  an  epoch  of  de- 
crepitude. But  the  argument  and  the  contents 
never  got  so  far  en  rap-port  with  each  other  as 
to  clear  up  such  points  as  this.  On  the  con- 
trary, each  kept  on  the  even  tenor  of  its  way 
without  much  regard  to  the  other.  From  the 
titles  of  the  chapters  one  was  led  to  expect  some 
comprehensive  theory  of  European  civilization 
continuously  expounded.  But  the  text  merely 
showed  a  great  quantity  of  superficial  and  sec- 
ond-hand information,  serving  to  illustrate  the 
mental  idiosyncrasies  of  the  author.  Among 
these  idiosyncrasies  might  be  noted  a  very  in- 
adequate understanding  of  the  part  played  by 
Rome  in  the  work  of  civilization,  a  singular 
lack  of  appreciation  of  the  political  and  philo- 
sophical achievements  of  Greece  under  Athe- 
nian leadership,  a  strong  hostility  to  the  Catholic 
Church,  a  curious  disposition  to  overrate  semi- 
barbarous  or  abortive  civilizations,  such  as  those 
of  the  old  Asiatic  and  native  American  com- 
munities, at  the  expense  of  Europe,  and,  above 
all,  an  undiscriminating  admiration  for  every- 
thing, great  or  small,  that  has  ever  worn  the 
garb  of  Islam  or  been  associated  with  the  career 
183 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  the  Saracens.  The  discovery  that  in  some 
respects  the  Mussulmans  of  the  Middle  Ages 
were  more  highly  cultivated  than  their  Christian 
contemporaries  has  made  such  an  impression 
on  Dr.  Draper's  mind  that  it  seems  to  be  as 
hard  for  him  to  get  rid  of  it  as  it  was  for  Mr. 
Dick  to  keep  the  execution  of  Charles  I.  out 
of  his  "  Memorial."  Even  in  an  essay  on  the 
"  Civil  Policy  of  America,"  the  turbaned  sage 
figures  quite  prominently  ;  and  it  is  needless  to 
add  that  he  reappears,  as  large  as  life,  when  the 
subject  of  discussion  is  the  attitude  of  science 
towards  religion. 

Speaking  briefly  with  regard  to  this  matter, 
we  may  freely  admit  that  the  work  done  by  the 
Arabs,  in  scientific  inquiry  as  well  as  in  the 
making  of  events,  was  very  considerable.  It 
was  a  work,  too,  the  value  of  which  is  not  com- 
monly appreciated  in  the  accounts  of  European 
history  written  for  the  general  reader,  and  we 
have  no  disposition  to  find  fault  with  Dr.  Draper 
for  describing  it  with  enthusiasm.  The  phi- 
losophers of  Bagdad  and  Cordova  did  excellent 
service  in  keeping  alive  the  traditions  of  Greek 
physical  inquiry  at  a  time  when  Christian 
thinkers  were  too  exclusively  occupied  with 
transcendental  speculations  in  theology  and 
logic.  In  some  departments,  as  in  chemistry 
and  astronomy,  they  made  original  discoveries 
of  considerable  value  ;  and  if  we  turn  from 
184 


DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION 

abstract  knowledge  to  the  arts  of  life,  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  the  mediaeval  Mussulmans  had 
reached  a  higher  plane  of  material  comfort  than 
their  Christian  contemporaries.  In  short,  the 
work  of  all  kinds  done  by  these  people  would 
furnish  the  judicious  advocate  of  the  claims  of 
the  Semitic  race  with  materials  for  a  pleasing 
and  instructive  picture.  Dr.  Draper,  however, 
errs,  though  no  doubt  unintentionally,  by  so 
presenting  the  case  as  to  leave  upon  the  reader's 
mind  the  impression  that  all  this  scientific  and 
practical  achievement  was  the  work  of  Islamism, 
and  that  the  Mohammedan  civilization  was  of 
a  higher  type  than  the  Christian.  It  is  with 
an  apparent  feeling  of  regret  that  he  looks  upon 
the  ousting  of  the  Moors  from  dominion  in 
Spain  ;  but  this  is  a  mistaken  view.  As  regards 
the  first  point,  it  is  a  patent  fact  that  scientific 
inquiry  was  conducted  at  the  cost  of  as  much 
theological  obloquy  in  the  Mohammedan  as  in 
the  Christian  world.  It  is  true  there  was  more 
actual  tolerance  of  heresy  on  the  part  of  Mos- 
lem governments  than  was  customary  in  Europe 
in  those  days ;  but  this  is  a  superficial  fact, 
which  does  not  indicate  any  superiority  in  Mos- 
lem popular  sentiment.  The  caliphate  or  emir- 
ate was  a  truly  absolute  despotism,  such  as  the 
Papacy  has  never  been,  and  the  conduct  of  a 
sceptical  emir  in  encouraging  scientific  inquiry 
goes  but  little  way  towards  proving  anything 

185 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

like  a  general  prevalence  of  tolerance  or  of  free- 
thinking.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  second 
point,  —  that  Mohammedan  civilization  was,  on 
the  whole,  rather  a  skin-deep  affair.  It  was 
superficial  because  of  that  extreme  severance  be- 
tween government  and  people  which  has  never 
existed  in  European  nations  within  historic 
times,  but  which  has  always  existed  among  the 
principal  races  that  have  professed  Moslemism. 
Nowhere  in  the  Mohammedan  world  has  there 
ever  been  what  we  call  a  national  life,  and  no- 
where do  we  find  in  its  records  any  trace  of  such 
an  intellectual  impulse,  thrilling  through  every 
fibre  of  the  people  and  begetting  prodigious 
achievements  in  art,  poetry,  and  philosophy,  as 
was  awakened  in  Europe  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury and  again  in  the  fifteenth.  Under  the 
peculiar  form  of  unlimited  material  and  spiritual 
despotism  exemplified  in  the  caliphate,  a  few 
men  may  discover  gases  or  comment  on  Aris- 
totle, but  no  general  movement  towards  political 
progress  or  philosophical  inquiry  is  possible. 
Such  a  society  is  rigid  and  inorganic  at  bottom, 
whatever  scanty  signs  of  flexibility  and  life  it 
may  show  at  the  surface.  There  is  no  better 
illustration  of  this,  when  well  considered,  than 
the  fact  that  Moorish  civilization  remained, 
politically  and  intellectually,  a  mere  excrescence 
in  Spain,  after  having  been  fastened  down  over 
half  the  country  for  nearly  eight  centuries. 


DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION 

But  we  are  in  danger  of  forgetting  our  main 
theme,  as  Dr.  Draper  seems  to  do,  while  we 
linger  with  him  over  these  interesting  wayside 
topics.  We  may  perhaps  be  excused,  however, 
if  we  have  not  yet  made  any  very  explicit  allu- 
sion to  the  "  Conflict  between  Religion  and 
Science,"  because  this  work  seems  to  be  in  the 
main  a  repetition  en  petit  of  the  "  Intellectual 
Development  of  Europe,"  and  what  we  have 
said  will  apply  as  well  to  one  as  to  the  other. 
In  the  little  book,  as  in  the  big  one,  we  hear  a 
great  deal  about  the  Arabs,  and  something 
about  Columbus  and  Galileo,  who  made  men 
accept  sundry  truths  in  the  teeth  of  clerical 
opposition  ;  and,  as  before,  we  float  gently  down 
the  current  of  history  without  being  over  well- 
informed  as  to  the  precise  didactic  purpose  of 
our  voyage.  Here,  indeed,  even  our  headings 
and  running  titles  do  not  materially  help  us, 
for  though  we  are  supposed  to  be  witnessing, 
or  mayhap  assisting  in,  a  perennial  conflict  be- 
tween "  science  "  and  "  religion,"  we  are  nowhere 
enlightened  as  to  what  the  cause  or  character  of 
this  conflict  is,  nor  are  we  enabled  to  get  a  good 
look  at  either  of  the  parties  to  the  strife.  With 
regard  to  "  religion  "  especially  are  we  left  in 
the  dark.  What  this  dreadful  thing  is  towards 
which  "  science  "  is  always  playing  the  part  of 
Herakles  towards  the  Lernaean  Hydra,  we  are 
left  to  gather  from  the  course  of  the  narrative. 
187 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Yet,  in  a  book  with  any  valid  claim  to  clear- 
sightedness, one  would  think  such  a  point  as 
this  ought  to  receive  very  explicit  preliminary 
treatment. 

The  course  of  the  narrative,  however,  leaves 
us  in  little  doubt  as  to  what  Dr.  Draper  means 
by  a  conflict  between  science  and  religion. 
When  he  enlarges  on  the  trite  story  of  Galileo, 
and  alludes  to  the  more  modern  quarrel  be- 
tween the  Church  and  the  geologists,  and  does 
this  in  the  belief  that  he  is  thereby  illustrating 
an  antagonism  between  religion  and  science,  it 
is  obvious  that  he  identifies  the  cause  of  the 
anti-geologists  and  the  persecutors  of  Galileo 
with  the  cause  of  religion.  The  word  "  reli- 
gion "  is  to  him  a  symbol  which  stands  for 
unenlightened  bigotry  or  narrow-minded  un- 
willingness to  look  facts  in  the  face.  Such  a 
conception  of  religion  is  common  enough,  and 
unhappily  a  great  deal  has  been  done  to 
strengthen  it  by  the  very  persons  to  whom  the 
interests  of  religion  are  presumed  to  be  a  pro- 
fessional care.  It  is  nevertheless  a  very  super- 
ficial conception,  and  no  book  which  is  vitiated 
by  it  can  have  much  philosophic  value.  It  is 
simply  the  crude  impression  which,  in  minds 
unaccustomed  to  analysis,  is  left  by  the  fact  that 
theologians  and  other  persons  interested  in 
religion  are  usually  alarmed  at  new  scientific 
truths,  and  resist  them  with  emotions  so  highly 
1 88 


DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION 

wrought  that  they  are  not  only  incapable  of 
estimating  evidence,  but  often  also  have  their 
moral  sense  impaired,  and  fight  with  foul  means 
when  fair  ones  fail.  If  we  reflect  carefully  on 
this  class  of  phenomena,  we  shall  see  that  some- 
thing besides  mere  pride  of  opinion  is  involved 
in  the  struggle.  At  the  bottom  of  changing 
theological  beliefs  there  lies  something  which 
men  perennially  value,  and  for  the  sake  of 
which  they  cling  to  the  beliefs  as  long  as  possi- 
ble. That  which  they  value  is  not  itself  a  mat- 
ter of  belief,  but  it  is  a  matter  of  conduct ;  it 
is  the  searching  after  goodness, —  after  a  higher 
life  than  the  mere  satisfaction  of  individual  de- 
sires. All  animals  seek  for  fulness  of  life ;  but 
in  civilized  man  this  craving  has  acquired  a 
moral  significance,  and  has  become  a  spiritual 
aspiration  ;  and  this  emotional  tendency,  more 
or  less  strong  in  the  human  race,  we  call  reli- 
gious feeling  or  religion.  Viewed  in  this  light, 
religion  is  not  only  something  that  mankind  is 
never  likely  to  get  rid  of,  but  it  is  incomparably 
the  most  noble  as  well  as  the  most  useful  attri- 
bute of  humanity. 

Now,  this  emotional  prompting  towards  com- 
pleteness of  life  requires,  of  course,  that  conduct 
should  be  guided,  as  far  as  possible,  in  accord- 
ance with  a  true  theory  of  the  relations  of  man 
to  the  world  in  which  he  lives.  Hence,  at  any 
given  era  the  religious  feeling  will  always  be 
189 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

found  enlisted  in  behalf  of  some  theory  of  the 
universe.  At  any  time,  whatever  may  be  their 
shortcomings  in  practice,  religious  men  will  aim 
at  doing  right  according  to  their  conceptions  of 
the  order  of  the  world.  If  men's  conceptions 
of  the  order  of  nature  remained  constant,  no 
apparent  conflict  between  their  religious  feel- 
ings and  their  knowledge  need  ever  arise.  But 
with  the  first  advance  in  our  knowledge  of 
nature  the  case  is  altered.  New  and  strange 
theories  are  naturally  regarded  with  fear  and 
dislike  by  persons  who  have  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  find  the  sanction  and  justification  of 
their  emotional  prompting  towards  righteous- 
ness in  old  familiar  theories  which  the  new  ones 
are  seeking  to  supplant.  Such  persons  oppose 
the  new  doctrine  because  their  engrained  men- 
tal habits  compel  them  to  believe  that  its  estab- 
lishment will  in  some  way  lower  men's  standard 
of  life,  and  make  them  less  careful  of  their  spir- 
itual welfare.  This  is  the  case,  at  all  events, 
when  theologians  oppose  scientific  conclusions 
on  religious  grounds,  and  not  simply  from 
mental  dulness  or  rigidity.  And,  in  so  far  as  it 
is  religious  feeling  which  thus  prompts  resist- 
ance to  scientific  innovation,  it  may  be  said, 
with  some  appearance  of  truth,  that  there  is  a 
conflict  between  religion  and  science. 

But  there  must  always  be  two  parties  to  a 
quarrel,  and  our  statement  has  to  be  modified 
190 


DRAPER  ON  SCIENCE  AND  RELIGION 

as  soon  as  we  consider  what  the  scientific  inno- 
vator impugns.  It  is  not  the  emotional  prompt- 
ing towards  righteousness,  it  is  not  the  yearn- 
ing to  live  im  Guten^  Ganzen,  Wahren,  that  he 
seeks  to  weaken ;  quite  likely  he  has  all  this  as 
much  at  heart  as  the  theologian  who  vituperates 
him.  Nor  is  it  true  that  his  discoveries;  in  spite 
of  him,  tend  to  destroy  this  all-important  men- 
tal attitude.  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  say  that 
the  fate  of  religious  feeling  is  really  involved  in 
the  fate  of  grotesque  cosmogonies  and  theoso- 
phies  framed  in  the  infancy  of  men's  knowledge 
of  nature ;  for  history  shows  us  quite  the  con- 
trary. Religious  feeling  has  survived  the  helio- 
centric theory  and  the  discoveries  of  geologists  ; 
and  it  will  be  none  the  worse  for  the  establish- 
ment of  Darwinism.  It  is  the  merest  truism  to 
say  that  religion  strikes  its  roots  deeper  down 
into  human  nature  than  speculative  opinion,  and 
is  accordingly  independent  of  any  particular  set 
of  beliefs.  Since,  then,  the  scientific  innovator 
does  not,  either  voluntarily  or  involuntarily, 
attack  religion,  it  follows  that  there  can  be  no 
such  "  conflict  "  as  that  of  which  Dr.  Draper 
has  undertaken  to  write  the  history.  The  real 
contest  is  between  one  phase  of  science  and 
another ;  between  the  more-crude  knowledge 
of  yesterday  and  the  less-crude  knowledge  of 
to-day.  The  contest,  indeed,  as  presented  in 
history,  is  simply  the  measure  of  the  difficulty 
191 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

which  men  find  in  exchanging  old  views  for  new 
ones.  All  along,  the  practical  question  has 
been,  whether  we  should  passively  acquiesce  in 
the  crude  generalizations  of  our  ancestors  or 
venture  actively  to  revise  them.  But  as  for  the 
religious  sentiment,  the  perennial  struggle  in 
which  it  has  been  engaged  has  not  been  with 
scientific  inquiry,  but  with  the  selfish  propen- 
sities whose  tendency  is  to  make  men  lead  the 
lives  of  brutes. 

The  time  is  at  hand  when  the  interests  of 
religion  can  no  longer  be  supposed  to  be  sub- 
served by  obstinate  adherence  to  crude  specu- 
lations bequeathed  to  us  from  pre-scientific  an- 
tiquity. One  good  result  of  the  doctrine  of 
evolution,  which  is  now  gaining  sway  in  all  de- 
partments of  thought,  is  the  lesson  that  all  our 
opinions  must  be  held  subject  to  continual  re- 
vision, and  that  with  none  of  them  can  our 
religious  interests  be  regarded  as  irretrievably 
implicated.  To  any  one  who  has  once  learned 
this  lesson,  a  book  like  Dr.  Draper's  can  be 
neither  interesting  nor  useful.  He  who  has 
not  learned  it  can  derive  little  benefit  from  a 
work  which  in  its  very  title  keeps  open  an  old 
and  baneful  source  of  error  and  confusion. 

November,  1875. 


192 


VII 
NATHAN   THE   WISE1 

THE  fame  of  Lessing  is  steadily  grow- 
ing. Year  by  year  he  is  valued  more 
highly,  and  valued  by  a  greater  num- 
ber of  people.  And  he  is  destined,  like  his 
master  and  forerunner  Spinoza,  to  receive  a  yet 
larger  share  of  men's  reverence  and  gratitude 
when  the  philosophic  spirit  which  he  lived 
to  illustrate  shall  have  become  in  some  mea- 
sure the  general  possession  of  the  civilized 
part  of  mankind.  In  his  own  day,  Lessing, 
though  widely  known  and  greatly  admired, 
was  little  understood  or  appreciated.  He  was 
known  to  be  a  learned  antiquarian,  a  terrible 
controversialist,  and  an  incomparable  writer. 
He  was  regarded  as  a  brilliant  ornament  to 
Germany  ;  and  a  paltry  Duke  of  Brunswick 

1  Nathan  the  Wise :  A  Dramatic  Poem,  by  Gotthold 
Ephraim  Lessing.  Translated  by  Ellen  Frothingham.  Pre- 
ceded by  a  brief  account  of  the  poet  and  his  works,  and  fol- 
lowed by  an  essay  on  the  poem  by  Kuno  Fischer.  Second 
edition.  New  York  :  Leypoldt  &  Holt.  1868. 

Le  Christianisme  Moderne.  Etude  sur  Lessing.  Par  Er- 
nest Fontanes.  Paris:  Bailliere.  1867. 

193 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

thought  a  few  hundred  thalers  well  spent  in 
securing  the  glory  of  having  such  a  man  to 
reside  at  his  provincial  court.  But  the  majority 
of  Lessing's  contemporaries  understood  him  as 
little  perhaps  as  did  the  Duke  of  Brunswick. 
If  anything  were  needed  to  prove  this,  it  would 
be  the  uproar  which  was  made  over  the  publi- 
cation of  the  "  Wolfenbiittel  Fragments,"  and 
the  curious  exegesis  which  was  applied  to  the 
poem  of"  Nathan  "  on  its  first  appearance.  In 
order  to  understand  the  true  character  of  this 
great  poem,  and  of  Lessing's  religious  opinions 
as  embodied  in  it,  it  will  be  necessary  first  to 
consider  the  memorable  theological  controversy 
which  preceded  it. 

During  Lessing's  residence  at  Hamburg,  he 
had  come  into  possession  of  a  most  impor- 
tant manuscript,  written  by  Hermann  Samuel 
Reimarus,  a  professor  of  Oriental  languages, 
and  bearing  the  title  of  an  "  Apology  for  the 
Rational  Worshippers  of  God."  Struck  with 
the  rigorous  logic  displayed  in  its  arguments, 
and  with  the  quiet  dignity  of  its  style,  while 
yet  unable  to  accept  its  most  general  conclu- 
sions, Lessing  resolved  to  publish  the  manu- 
script, accompanying  it  with  his  own  comments 
and  strictures.  Accordingly  in  1774,  availing 
himself  of  the  freedom  from  censorship  enjoyed 
by  publications  drawn  from  manuscripts  de- 
posited in  the  Ducal  Library  at  Wolfenbiittel, 
194 


Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

of  which  he  was  librarian,  Lessing  published 
the  first  portion  of  this  work,  under  the  title 
of "  Fragments  drawn  from  the  Papers  of  an 
Anonymous  Writer."  This  first  Fragment,  on 
the  "  Toleration  of  Deists,"  awakened  but 
little  opposition  ;  for  the  eighteenth  century, 
though  intolerant  enough,  did  not  parade  its 
bigotry,  but  rather  saw  fit  to  disclaim  it.  A 
hundred  years  before,  Rutherford,  in  his  "  Free 
Disputation,"  had  declared  "  toleration  of  alle 
religions  to  bee  not  farre  removed  from  blas- 
phemie."  Intolerance  was  then  a  thing  to  be 
proud  of,  but  in  Lessing's  time  some  progress 
had  been  achieved,  and  men  began  to  think  it 
a  good  thing  to  seem  tolerant.  The  succeed- 
ing Fragments  were  to  test  this  liberality  and 
reveal  the  flimsiness  of  the  stuff  of  which  it 
was  made.  When  the  unknown  disputant  be- 
gan to  declare  "  the  impossibility  of  a  revelation 
upon  which  all  men  can  rest  a  solid  faith,"  and 
when  he  began  to  criticise  the  evidences  of 
Christ's  resurrection,  such  a  storm  burst  out  in 
the  theological  world  of  Germany  as  had  not 
been  witnessed  since  the  time  of  Luther.  The 
recent  Colenso  controversy  in  England  was 
but  a  gentle  breeze  compared  to  it.  Press  and 
pulpit  swarmed  with  "  refutations,"  in  which 
weakness  of  argument  and  scantiness  of  erudi- 
tion were  compensated  by  strength  of  acrimony 
and  unscrupulousness  of  slander.  Pamphlets 
195 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  sermons,  says  M.  Fontanes,  "  were  mul- 
tiplied, to  denounce  the  impious  blasphemer, 
who,  destitute  alike  of  shame  and  of  courage, 
had  sheltered  himself  behind  a  paltry  fiction, 
in  order  to  let  loose  upon  society  an  evil  spirit 
of  unbelief."  But  Lessing' s  artifice  had  been 
intended  to  screen  the  memory  of  Reimarus, 
rather  than  his  own  reputation.  He  was  not 
the  man  to  quail  before  any  amount  of  human 
opposition ;  and  it  was  when  the  tempest  of 
invective  was  just  at  its  height  that  he  pub- 
lished the  last  and  boldest  Fragment  of  all, — 
on  "  The  Designs  of  Jesus  and  his  Disciples." 
The  publication  of  these  Fragments  led  to  a 
mighty  controversy.  The  most  eminent,  both 
for  uncompromising  zeal  and  for  worldly  posi- 
tion, of  those  who  had  attacked  Lessing,  was 
Melchior  Goetze,  "  pastor  primarius "  at  the 
Hamburg  Cathedral.  Though  his  name  is  now 
remembered  only  because  of  his  connection  with 
Lessing,  Goetze  was  not  destitute  of  learning 
and  ability.  He  was  a  collector  of  rare  books, 
an  amateur  in  numismatics,  and  an  antiquarian 
of  the  narrow-minded  sort.  Lessing  had  known 
him  while  at  Hamburg,  and  had  visited  him  so 
constantly  as  to  draw  forth  from  his  friends  ma- 
licious insinuations  as  to  the  excellence  of  the 
pastor's  white  wine.  Doubtless  Lessing,  as  a 
wise  man,  was  not  insensible  to  the  attractions 
of  good  Moselle  ;  but  that  which  he  chiefly 
196 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

liked  in  this  theologian  was  his  logical  and  rig- 
orously consistent  turn  of  mind.  "  He  always," 
says  M.  Fontanes,  "  cherished  a  holy  horror  of 
loose,  inconsequent  thinkers  ;  and  the  man  of 
the  past,  the  inexorable  guardian  of  tradition, 
appeared  to  him  far  more  worthy  of  respect 
than  the  heterodox  innovator  who  stops  in 
mid-course,  and  is  faithful  neither  to  reason  nor 
to  faith." 

But  when  Lessing  published  these  unhallowed 
Fragments,  the  hour  of  conflict  had  sounded, 
and  Goetze  cast  himself  into  the  arena  with  a 
boldness  and  impetuosity  which  Lessing,  in  his 
artistic  capacity,  could  not  fail  to  admire.  He 
spared  no  possible  means  of  reducing  his  enemy 
to  submission.  He  aroused  against  him  all  the 
constituted  authorities,  the  consistories,  and 
even  the  Aulic  Council  of  the  Empire,  and  he 
even  succeeded  in  drawing  along  with  him  the 
chief  of  contemporary  rationalists,  Semler,  who 
so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  declare  that  Lessing, 
for  what  he  had  done,  deserved  to  be  sent  to 
the  madhouse.  But  with  all  Goetze's  orthodox 
valour,  he  was  no  match  for  the  antagonist  whom 
he  had  excited  to  activity.  The  great  critic  re- 
plied with  pamphlet  after  pamphlet,  invincible 
in  logic  and  erudition,  sparkling  with  wit,  and 
irritating  in  their  utter  coolness.  Such  pam- 
phlets had  not  been  seen  since  Pascal  published 
the  "  Provincial  Letters."  Goetze  found  that  he 
197 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

had  taken  up  arms  against  a  master  in  the  arts 
of  controversy,  and  before  long  he  became  well 
aware  that  he  was  worsted.  Having  brought  the 
case  before  the  Aulic  Council,  which  consisted 
in  great  part  of  Catholics,  the  stout  pastor,  for- 
getting that  judgment  had  not  yet  been  ren- 
dered, allowed  himself  to  proclaim  that  all  who 
do  not  recognize  the  Bible  as  the  only  source 
of  Christianity  are  not  fit  to  be  called  Christians 
at  all.  Lessing  was  not  slow  to  profit  by  this 
unlucky  declaration.  Questioned,  with  all  man- 
ner of  ferocious  vituperation,  by  Goetze,  as  to 
what  sort  of  Christianity  might  have  existed 
prior  to  and  independently  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment canon,  Lessing  imperturbably  answered : 
"  By  the  Christian  religion  I  mean  all  the  con- 
fessions of  faith  contained  in  the  collection  of 
creeds  of  the  first  four  centuries  of  the  Christian 
Church,  including,  if  you  wish  it,  the  so-called 
creed  of  the  apostles,  as  well  as  the  creed  of 
Athanasius.  The  content  of  these  confessions 
is  called  by  the  earlier  Fathers  the  regulafidei, 
or  rule  of  faith.  This  rule  of  faith  is  not  drawn 
from  the  writings  of  the  New  Testament.  It  ex- 
isted before  any  of  the  books  in  the  New  Tes- 
tament were  written.  It  sufficed  not  only  for  the 
first  Christians  of  the  age  of  the  apostles,  but  for 
their  descendants  during  four  centuries.  And  it 
is,  therefore,  the  veritable  foundation  upon  which 
the  Church  of  Christ  is  built ;  a  foundation  not 
198 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

based  upon  Scripture."  Thus,  by  a  master- 
stroke, Lessing  secured  the  adherence  of  the 
Catholics  constituting  a  majority  of  the  Aulic 
Council  of  the  Empire.  Like  Paul  before  him, 
he  divided  the  Sanhedrim.  So  that  Goetze, 
foiled  in  his  attempts  at  using  violence,  and 
disconcerted  by  the  patristic  learning  of  one 
whom  he  had  taken  to  be  a  mere  connoisseur 
in  art  and  writer  of  plays  for  the  theatre,  con- 
cluded that  discretion  was  the  surest  kind  of 
valour,  and. desisted  from  further  attacks. 

Lessing's  triumph  came  opportunely  ;  for  al- 
ready the  ministry  of  Brunswick  had  not  only 
confiscated  the  Fragments,  but  had  prohibited 
him  from  publishing  anything  more  on  the  sub- 
ject without  first  obtaining  express  authority  to 
do  so.  His  last  replies  to  Goetze  were  published 
at  Hamburg;  and  as  he  held  himself  in  readi- 
ness to  depart  from  Wolfenbiittel,  he  wrote  to 
several  friends  that  he  had  conceived  the  design 
of  a  drama,  with  which  he  would  tear  the  theo- 
logians in  pieces  more  than  with  a  dozen  Frag- 
ments. "  I  will  try  and  see,"  said  he,  "  if  they 
will  let  me  preach  in  peace  from  my  old  pulpit, 
the  theatre."  In  this  way  originated  "  Nathan 
the  Wise."  But  it  in  no  way  answered  to  the 
expectations  either  of  Lessing's  friends  or  of  his 
enemies.  Both  the  one  and  the  other  expected 
to  see  the  controversy  with  Goetze  carried  on, 
developed,  and  generalized  in  the  poem.  They 
199 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

looked  for  a  satirical  comedy,  in  which  ortho- 
doxy should  be  held  up  for  scathing  ridicule, 
or  at  least  for  a  direful  tragedy,  the  moral  of 
which,  like  that  of  the  great  poem  of  Lucretius, 
should  be 

"Tantum  religio  potuit  saudere  malorum." 
Had  Lessing  produced  such  a  poem,  he  would 
doubtless  have  gratified  his  free-thinking  friends 
and  wreaked  due  literary  vengeance  upon  his 
theological  persecutors.  He  would,  perhaps, 
have  given  articulate  expression  to  the  radical- 
ism of  his  own  time,  and,  like  Voltaire,  might 
have  constituted  himself  the  leader  of  the  age, 
the  incarnation  of  its  most  conspicuous  tenden- 
cies. But  Lessing  did  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  and 
the  expectations  formed  of  him  by  friends  and 
enemies  alike  show  how  little  he  was  understood 
by  either.  "  Nathan  the  Wise  "  was,  as  we  shall 
see,  in  the  eighteenth  century  an  entirely  new 
phenomenon ;  and  its  author  was  the  pioneer 
of  a  quite  new  religious  philosophy. 

Reimarus,  the  able  author  of  the  Fragments, 
in  his  attack  upon  the  evidences  of  revealed  re- 
ligion, had  taken  the  same  ground  as  Voltaire 
and  the  old  English  deists.  And  when  we  have 
said  this,  we  have  sufficiently  defined  his  posi- 
tion, for  the  tenets  of  the  deists  are  at  the  pre- 
sent day  pretty  well  known,  and  are,  moreover, 
of  very  little  vital  importance,  having  long  since 
been  supplanted  by  a  more  just  and  compre- 
200 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

hensive  philosophy.  Reimarus  accepted  neither 
miracles  nor  revelation ;  but  in  accordance  with 
the  rudimentary  state  of  criticism  in  his  time, 
he  admitted  the  historical  character  of  the  earli- 
est Christian  records,  and  was  thus  driven  to 
the  conclusion  that  those  writings  must  have 
been  fraudulently  composed.  How  such  a  set 
of  impostors  as  the  apostles  must  on  this  hy- 
pothesis have  been,  should  have  succeeded  in 
inspiring  large  numbers  of  their  contempora- 
ries with  higher  and  grander  religious  notions 
than  had  ever  before  been  conceived  ;  how  they 
should  have  laid  the  foundations  of  a  theologi- 
cal system  destined  to  hold  together  the  most 
enlightened  and  progressive  portion  of  human 
society  for  seventeen  or  eighteen  centuries, 
—  does  not  seem  to  have  entered  his  mind. 
Against  such  attacks  as  this,  orthodoxy  was 
comparatively  safe ;  for  whatever  doubt  might 
be  thrown  upon  some  of  its  leading  dogmas, 
the  system  as  a  whole  was  more  consistent  and 
rational  than  any  of  the  theories  which  were 
endeavouring  to  supplant  it.  And  the  fact  that 
nearly  all  the  great  thinkers  of  the  eighteenth 
century  adopted  this  deistic  hypothesis  shows, 
more  than  anything  else,  the  crudeness  of  their 
psychological  knowledge  and  their  utter  lack 
of  what  is  called  "  the  historical  sense." 

Lessing  at  once  saw  the  weak  point  in   Rei- 
marus's  argument,  but  his  method  of  disposing 
20 1 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  it  differed  signally  from  that  adopted  by  his 
orthodox  contemporaries.  The  more  advanced 
German  theologians  of  that  day,  while  accept- 
ing the  New  Testament  records  as  literally  his- 
torical, were  disposed  to  rationalize  the  accounts 
of  miracles  contained  in  them,  in  such  a  way  as 
to  get  rid  of  any  presumed  infractions  of  the 
laws  of  nature.  This  method  of  exegesis,  which 
reached  its  perfection  in  Paulus,  is  too  well 
known  to  need  describing.  Its  unsatisfactory 
character  was  clearly  shown,  thirty  years  ago, 
by  Strauss,  and  it  is  now  generally  abandoned, 
though  some  traces  of  it  may  still  be  seen  in 
the  recent  works  of  Renan.  Lessing  steadily 
avoided  this  method  of  interpretation.  He  had 
studied  Spinoza  to  some  purpose,  and  the  out- 
lines of  Biblical  criticism  laid  down  by  that  re- 
markable thinker  Lessing  developed  into  a  sys- 
tem wonderfully  like  that  now  adopted  by  the 
Tubingen  School.  The  cardinal  results  which 
Baur  has  reached  within  the  past  generation 
were  nearly  all  hinted  at  by  Lessing,  in  his  com- 
mentaries on  the  Fragments.  The  distinction 
between  the  first  three,  or  synoptic  gospels, 
and  the  fourth,  the  later  age  of  the  fourth,  and 
the  method  of  composition  of  the  first  three, 
from  earlier  documents  and  from  oral  tradition, 
are  all  clearly  laid  down  by  him.  The  dis- 
tinct points  of  view  from  which  the  four  ac- 
counts were  composed,  are  also  indicated,  —  the 

202 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

Judaizing  disposition  of  "  Matthew,"  the  Paul- 
ine sympathies  of  "  Luke,"  the  compromising 
or  Petrine  tendencies  of  "  Mark,"  and  the  ad- 
vanced Hellenic  character  of  "John."  Those 
best  acquainted  with  the  results  of  modern  crit- 
icism in  Germany  will  perhaps  be  most  surprised 
at  finding  such  speculations  in  a  book  written 
many  years  before  either  Strauss  or  Baur  were 
born. 

But  such  results,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
did  not  satisfy  the  pastor  Goetze  or  the  public 
which  sympathized  with  him.  The  valiant  pas- 
tor unhesitatingly  declared  that  he  read  the  ob- 
jections which  Lessing  opposed  to  the  Frag- 
mentist  with  more  horror  and  disgust  than  the 
Fragments  themselves  ;  and  in  the  teeth  of  the 
printed  comments  he  declared  that  the  editor 
was  craftily  upholding  his  author  in  his  deistical 
assault  upon  Christian  theology.  The  accusation 
was  unjust,  because  untrue.  There  could  be  no 
genuine  co-operation  between  a  mere  iconoclast 
like  Reimarus,  and  a  constructive  critic  like  Les- 
sing. But  the  confusion  was  not  an  unnatural  one 
on  Goetze's  part,  and  I  cannot  agree  with  M. 
Fontanes  in  taking  it  as  convincing  proof  of  the 
pastor's  wrong-headed  perversity.  It  appears  to 
me  that  Goetze  interpreted  Lessing's  position 
quite  as  accurately  as  M.  Fontanes.  The  latter 
writer  thinks  that  Lessing  was  a  Christian  of  the 
liberal  school  since  represented  by  Theodore 
203 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Parker  in  this  country  and  by  M.  Reville  in 
France ;  that  his  real  object  was  to  defend  and 
strengthen  the  Christian  religion  by  relieving 
it  of  those  peculiar  doctrines  which  to  the  free- 
thinkers of  His  time  were  a  stumbling-block 
and  an  offence.  And,  in  spite  of  Lessing's  own 
declarations,  he  endeavours  to  show  that  he  was 
an  ordinary  theist,  —  a  follower  of  Leibnitz  ra- 
ther than  of  Spinoza.  But  I  do  not  think  he 
has  made  out  his  case.  Lessing's  own  confes- 
sion to  Jacobi  is  unequivocal  enough,  and  can- 
not well  be  argued  away.  In  that  remarkable 
conversation,  held  toward  the  close  of  his  life, 
he  indicates  clearly  enough  that  his  faith  was 
neither  that  of  the  ordinary  theist,  the  atheist, 
nor  the  pantheist,  but  that  his  religious  theory 
of  the  universe  was  identical  with  that  suggested 
by  Spinoza,  adopted  by  Goethe,  and  recently 
elaborated  in  the  first  part  of  the  "  First  Prin- 
ciples "  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer.  Moreover, 
while  Lessing  cannot  be  considered  an  antago- 
nist of  Christianity,  neither  did  he  assume  the 
attitude  of  a  defender.  He  remained  outside 
the  theological  arena ;  looking  at  theological 
questions  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  layman, 
or  rather,  as  M.  Cherbuliez  has  happily  ex- 
pressed it,  of  a  pagan.  His  mind  was  of  decid- 
edly antique  structure.  He  had  the  virtues  of 
paganism  :  its  sanity,  its  calmness,  and  its  prob- 
ity ;  but  of  the  tenderness  of  Christianity,  and 
204 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

its  quenchless  aspirations  after  an  indefinable 
ideal,  of  that  feeling  which  has  incarnated  itself 
in  Gothic  cathedrals,  masses  and  oratorios,  he 
exhibited  but  scanty  traces.  His  intellect  was 
above  all  things  self-consistent  and  incorrupti- 
ble. He  had  that  imperial  good  sense  which 
might  have  formed  the  ideal  alike  of  Horace 
and  of  Epictetus.  No  clandestine  preference 
for  certain  conclusions  could  make  his  reason 
swerve  from  the  straight  paths  of  logic.  And 
he  examined  and  rejected  the  conclusions  of 
Reimarus  in  the  same  imperturbable  spirit  with 
which  he  examined  and  rejected  the  current 
theories  of  the  French  classic  drama. 

Such  a  man  can  have  had  but  little  in  com- 
mon with  a  preacher  like  Theodore  Parker,  or 
with  a  writer  like  M.  Fontanes,  whose  whole 
book  is  a  noble  specimen  of  lofty  Christian  elo- 
quence. His  attribute  was  light,  not  warmth. 
He  scrutinized,  but  did  not  attack  or  defend. 
He  recognized  the  transcendent  merits  of  the 
Christian  faith,  but  made  no  attempt  to  rein- 
state it  where  it  had  seemed  to  suffer  shock. 
It  was  therefore  with  the  surest  of  instincts,  with 
that  same  instinct  of  self-preservation  which  had 
once  led  the  Church  to  anathematize  Galileo,  that 
Goetze  proclaimed  Lessing  a  more  dangerous  foe 
to  orthodoxy  than  the  deists  who  had  preceded 
him.  Controversy,  he  doubtless  thought,  may 
be  kept  up  indefinitely,  and  blows  given  and 
205 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

returned  forever ;  but  before  the  steady  gaze 
of  that  scrutinizing  eye  which  one  of  us  shall 
find  himself  able  to  stand  erect  ?  It  has  become 
fashionable  to  heap  blame  and  ridicule  upon 
those  who  violently  defend  an  antiquated  order 
of  things  ;  and  Goetze  has  received  at  the  hands 
of  posterity  his  full  share  of  abuse.  His  wrath 
contrasted  unfavourably  with  Lessing's  calm- 
ness ;  and  it  was  his  misfortune  to  have  taken 
up  arms  against  an  opponent  who  always  knew 
how  to  keep  the  laugh  upon  his  own  side. 
For  my  own  part  I  am  constrained  to  admire 
the  militant  pastor,  as  Lessing  himself  admired 
him.  From  an  artistic  point  of  view  he  is  not 
an  uninteresting  figure  to  contemplate.  And 
although  his  attempts  to  awaken  persecution 
were  reprehensible,  yet  his  ardour  in  defending 
what  he  believed  to  be  vital  truth  is  none  the 
less  to  be  respected.  He  had  the  acuteness  to 
see  that  Lessing's  refutation  of  deism  did  not 
make  him  a  Christian,  while  the  new  views  pro- 
posed as  a  substitute  for  those  of  Reimarus  were 
such  as  Goetze  and  his  age  could  in  no  wise 
comprehend. 

Lessing's  own  views  of  dogmatic  religion  are 
to  be  found  in  his  work  entitled,  "  The  Educa- 
tion of  the  Human  Race."  These  views  have 
since  so  far  become  the  veriest  commonplaces 
of  criticism,  that  one  can  hardly  realize  that, 
only  ninety  years  ago,  they  should  have  been 
206 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

regarded  as  dangerous  paradoxes.  They  may 
be  summed  up  in  the  statement  that  all  great 
religions  are  good  in  their  time  and  place ;  that, 
"  as  there  is  a  soul  of  goodness  in  things  evil, 
so  also  there  is  a  soul  of  truth  in  things  erro- 
neous." According  to  Lessing,  the  successive 
phases  of  religious  belief  constitute  epochs  in 
the  mental  evolution  of  the  human  race.  So 
that  the  crudest  forms  of  theology,  even  fetich- 
ism,  now  to  all  appearance  so  utterly  revolting, 
and  polytheism,  so  completely  inadequate,  have 
once  been  the  best,  the  natural  and  inevitable 
results  of  man's  reasoning  powers  and  appli- 
ances for  attaining  truth.  The  mere  fact  that 
a  system  of  religious  thought  has  received  the 
willing  allegiance  of  large  masses  of  men  shows 
that  it  must  have  supplied  some  consciously 
felt  want,  some  moral  or  intellectual  craving. 
And  the  mere  fact  that  knowledge  and  moral- 
ity are  progressive  implies  that  each  successive 
system  may  in  due  course  of  time  be  essentially 
modified  or  finally  supplanted.  The  absence 
of  any  reference  to  a  future  state  of  retribution, 
in  the  Pentateuch  and  generally  in  the  sacred 
writings  of  the  Jews,  and  the  continual  appeal 
to  hopes  and  fears  of  a  worldly  character,  have 
been  pronounced  by  deists  an  irremediable  de- 
fect in  the  Jewish  religion.  It  is  precisely  this, 
however,  says  Lessing,  which  constitutes  one 
of  its  signal  excellences.  "  That  thy  days  may 
207 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

be  long  in  the  land  which  Jehovah  thy  God 
giveth  thee,"  was  an  appeal  which  the  uncivi- 
lized Jew  could  understand,  and  which  could 
arouse  him  to  action  ;  while  the  need  of  a  future 
world,  to  rectify  the  injustices  of  this,  not  yet 
being  felt,  the  doctrine  would  have  been  of  but 
little  service.  But  in  later  Hebrew  literature, 
many  magnificent  passages  revealed  the  despair 
felt  by  prophet  and  thinker  over  the  insoluble 
problem  presented  by  the  evil  fate  of  the  good 
and  the  triumphant  success  of  the  wicked  ;  and 
a  solution  was  sought  in  the  doctrine  of  a 
Messianic  kingdom,  until  Christianity  with  its 
proclamation  of  a  future  life  set  the  question 
entirely  aside.  By  its  appeal  to  what  has  been 
aptly  termed  "  other-worldliness,"  Christianity 
immeasurably  intensified  human  responsibility, 
besides  rendering  clearer  its  nature  and  limits. 
But  according  to  Lessing,  yet  another  step  re- 
mains to  be  taken ;  and  here  we  come  upon 
the  gulf  which  separates  him  from  men  of  the 
stamp  of  Theodore  Parker.  For,  says  Lessing, 
the  appeal  to  unearthly  rewards  and  punish- 
ments is  after  all  an  appeal  to  our  lower  feelings  ; 
other-worldliness  is  but  a  refined  selfishness  ; 
and  we  are  to  cherish  virtue  for  its  own  sake, 
not  because  it  will  lead  us  to  heaven.  Here  is 
the  grand  principle  of  Stoicism.  Lessing  be- 
lieved, with  Mr.  Mill,  that  the  less  we  think 
about  getting  rewarded  either  on  earth  or  in 
208 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

heaven  the  better.  He  was  cast  in  the  same 
heroic  mould  as  Muhamad  Efendi,  who  when 
led  to  the  stake  exclaimed :  "  Though  I  have 
no  hope  of  recompense  hereafter,  yet  the  love 
of  truth  constraineth  me  to  die  in  its  defence  ! " 
With  the  truth  or  completeness  of  these 
views  of  Lessing  we  are  not  here  concerned  ; 
our  business  being  not  to  expound  our  own 
opinions,  but  to  indicate  as  clearly  as  possible 
Lessing's  position.  Those  who  are  familiar  with 
the  general  philosophical  spirit  of  the  present 
age,  as  represented  by  writers  otherwise  so 
different  as  Littre  and  Sainte-Beuve,  will  best 
appreciate  the  power  and  originality  of  these 
speculations.  Coming  in  the  last  century,  amid 
the  crudities  of  deism,  they  made  a  well-defined 
epoch.  They  inaugurated  the  historical  method 
of  criticism,  and  they  robbed  the  spirit  of  in- 
tolerance of  its  only  philosophical  excuse  for 
existing.  Hitherto  the  orthodox  had  been  in- 
tolerant towards  the  philosophers  because  they 
considered  them  heretics  ;  and  the  philosophers 
had  been  intolerant  towards  the  orthodox  be- 
cause they  considered  them  fools.  To  Voltaire 
it  naturally  seemed  that  a  man  who  could  believe 
in  the  reality  of  miracles  must  be  what  in  French 
is  expressively  termed  a  sot.  But  henceforth,  to 
the  disciple  of  Lessing,  men  of  all  shades  of 
opinion  were  but  the  representatives  and  expo- 
nents of  different  phases  in  the  general  evolu- 
209 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

tion  of  human  intelligence,  not  necessarily  to  be 
disliked  or  despised  if  they  did  not  happen  to 
represent  the  maturest  phase. 

Religion,  therefore,  from  this  point  of  view, 
becomes  clearly  demarcated  from  theology.  It 
consists  no  longer  in  the  mental  assent  to  cer- 
tain prescribed  formulas,  but  in  the  moral  obe- 
dience to  the  great  rule  of  life ;  the  great  com- 
mandment laid  down  and  illustrated  by  the 
Founder  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  concern- 
ing which  the  profoundest  modern  philosophy 
informs  us  that  the  extent  to  which  a  society 
has  learned  to  conform  to  it  is  the  test  and 
guage  of  the  progress  in  civilization  which  that 
society  has  achieved.  The  command  "  to  love 
one  another,"  to  check  the  barbarous  impulses 
inherited  from  the  pre-social  state,  while  giving 
free  play  to  the  beneficent  impulses  needful  for 
the  ultimate  attainment  of  social  equilibrium, 
—  or  as  Tennyson  phrases  it,  to  "  move  up- 
ward, working  out  the  beast,  and  letting  the  ape 
and  tiger  die,"  —  was,  in  Lessing's  view,  the 
task  set  before  us  by  religion.  The  true  reli- 
gious feeling  was  thus,  in  his  opinion,  what  the 
author  of  "  Ecce  Homo  "  has  finally  termed 
"  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity."  And  we  shall 
find  no  better  language  than  that  of  the  writer 
just  mentioned,  in  which  to  describe  Lessing's 
conception  of  faith  :  — 

"  He  who,  when  goodness  is  impressively 
210 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

put  before  him,  exhibits  an  instinctive  loyalty 
to  it,  starts  forward  to  take  its  side,  trusts  him- 
self to  it,  such  a  man  has  faith,  and  the  root  of 
the  matter  is  in  such  a  man.  He  may  have 
habits  of  vice,  but  the  loyal  and  faithful  instinct 
in  him  will  place  him  above  many  that  practise 
virtue.  He  may  be  rude  in  thought  and  char- 
acter, but  he  will  unconsciously  gravitate  toward 
what  is  right.  Other  virtues  can  scarcely  thrive 
without  a  fine  natural  organization  and  a  happy 
training.  But  the  most  neglected  and  ungifted 
of  men  may  make  a  beginning  with  faith.  Other 
virtues  want  civilization,  a  certain  amount  of 
knowledge,  a  few  books ;  but  in  half-brutal 
countenances  faith  will  light  up  a  glimmer  of 
nobleness.  The  savage,  who  can  do  little  else, 
can  wonder  and  worship  and  enthusiastically 
obey.  He  who  cannot  know  what  is  right  can 
know  that  some  one  else  knows ;  he  who  has 
no  law  may  still  have  a  master ;  he  who  is 
incapable  of  justice  may  be  capable  of  fidelity ; 
he  who  understands  little  may  have  his  sins  for- 
given because  he  loves  much." 

Such  was  Lessing's  religion,  so  far  as  it  can 
be  ascertained  from  the  fragmentary  writings 
which  he  has  left  on  the  subject.  Undoubtedly 
it  lacked  completeness.  The  opinions  which  we 
have  here  set  down,  though  constituting  some- 
thing more  than  a  mere  theory  of  morality,  cer- 
tainly do  not  constitute  a  complete  theory  of 

211 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

religion.  Our  valiant  knight  has  examined  but 
one  side  of  the  shield, —  the  bright  side,  turned 
toward  us,  whose  marvellous  inscriptions  the 
human  reason  can  by  dint  of  unwearied  effort 
decipher.  But  the  dark  side,  looking  out  upon 
infinity,  and  covered  with  hieroglyphics  the 
meaning  of  which  we  can  never  know,  he  has 
quite  forgotten  to  consider.  Yet  it  is  this  side 
which  genuine  religious  feeling  ever  seeks  to 
contemplate.  It  is  the  consciousness  that  there 
is  about  us  an  omnipresent  Power,  in  which  we 
live  and  move  and  have  our  being,  eternally 
manifesting  itself  throughout  the  whole  range 
of  natural  phenomena,  which  has  ever  disposed 
men  to  be  religious,  and  lured  them  on  in  the 
vain  effort  to  construct  adequate  theological 
systems.  We  may,  getting  rid  of  the  last  traces 
of  fetichism,  eliminate  arbitrary  volition  as  much 
as  we  will  or  can.  But  there  still  remains  the 
consciousness  of  a  divine  Life  in  the  universe, 
of  a  Power  which  is  beyond  and  above  our  com- 
prehension, whose  goings  out  and  comings  in 
no  man  can  follow.  The  more  we  know,  the 
more  we  reach  out  for  that  which  we  cannot 
know.  And  who  can  realize  this  so  vividly  as 
the  scientific  philosopher  ?  For  our  knowledge 
being,  according  to  the  familiar  comparison,  like 
a  brilliant  sphere,  the  more  we  increase  it  the 
greater  becomes  the  number  of  peripheral  points 
at  which  we  are  confronted  by  the  impenetrable 

212 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

darkness  beyond.  I  believe  that  this  restless 
yearning,  —  vague  enough  in  the  description, 
yet  recognizable  by  all  who,  communing  with 
themselves  or  with  nature,  have  felt  it, —  this 
constant  seeking  for  what  cannot  be  found, 
this  persistent  knocking  at  gates  which,  when 
opened,  but  reveal  others  yet  to  be  passed,  con- 
stitutes an  element  which  no  adequate  theory 
of  religion  can  overlook.  But  of  this  we  find 
nothing  in  Lessing.  With  him  all  is  sunny, 
serene,  and  pagan.  Not  the  dim  aisle  of  a  vast 
cathedral,  but  the  symmetrical  portico  of  an 
antique  temple,  is  the  worshipping-place  into 
which  he  would  lead  us. 

But  if  Lessing's  theology  must  be  considered 
imperfect,  it  is  none  the  less  admirable  as  far 
as  it  goes.  With  its  peculiar  doctrines  of  love 
and  faith,  it  teaches  a  morality  far  higher  than 
any  that  Puritanism  ever  dreamed  of.  And 
with  its  theory  of  development  it  cuts  away 
every  possible  logical  basis  for  intolerance.  It 
is  this  theology  to  which  Lessing  has  given 
concrete  expression  in  his  immortal  poem  of 
"  Nathan." 

The  central  idea  of  "  Nathan  "  was  suggested 
to  Lessing  by  Boccaccio's  story  of"  The  Three 
Rings,"  which  is  supposed  to  have  had  a  Jewish 
origin.  Saladin,  pretending  to  be  inspired  by  a 
sudden,  imperious  whim,  such  as  is  "  not  un- 
becoming in  a  Sultan,"  demands  that  Nathan 
213 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

shall  answer  him  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
which  of  the  three  great  religions  then  known 
—  Judaism,  Mohammedanism,  Christianity  — 
is  adjudged  by  reason  to  be  the  true  one.  For 
a  moment  the  philosopher  is  in  a  quandary.  If 
he  does  not  pronounce  in  favour  of  his  own 
religion,  Judaism,  he  stultifies  himself;  but  if 
he  does  not  award  the  precedence  to  Moham- 
medanism, he  will  apparently  insult  his  sover- 
eign. With  true  Oriental  tact  he  escapes  from 
the  dilemma  by  means  of  a  parable.  There  was 
once  a  man,  says  Nathan,  who  possessed  a  ring 
of  inestimable  value.  Not  only  was  the  stone 
which  it  contained  incomparably  fine,  but  it 
possessed  the  marvellous  property  of  rendering 
its  owner  agreeable  both  to  God  and  to  men. 
The  old  man  bequeathed  this  ring  to  that  one 
of  his  sons  whom  he  loved  the  most ;  and  the 
son,  in  turn,  made  a  similar  disposition  of  it. 
So  that,  passing  from  hand  to  hand,  the  ring 
finally  came  into  the  possession  of  a  father  who 
loved  his  three  sons  equally  well.  Unto  which 
one  should  he  leave  it  ?  To  get  rid  of  the  per- 
plexity, he  had  two  other  rings  made  by  a  jew- 
eller, exactly  like  the  original,  and  to  each  of 
his  three  sons  he  bequeathed  one.  Each  then 
thinking  that  he  had  obtained  the  true  talisman, 
they  began  violently  to  quarrel,  and  after  long 
contention  agreed  to  carry  their  dispute  before 
the  judge.  But  the  judge  said  :  "  Quarrelsome 
214 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

fellows !  You  are  all  three  of  you  cheated 
cheats.  Your  three  rings  are  alike  counterfeit. 
For  the  genuine  ring  is  lost,  and  to  conceal  the 
loss,  your  father  had  made  these  three  substi- 
tutes." At  this  unexpected  denouement  the  Sul- 
tan breaks  out  in  exclamations  of  delight ;  and 
it  is  interesting  to  learn  that  when  the  play  was 
brought  upon  the  stage  at  Constantinople  a  few 
years  ago,  the  Turkish  audience  was  similarly 
affected.  There  is  in  the  story  that  quiet, 
stealthy  humour  which  is  characteristic  of  many 
mediaeval  apologues,  and  in  which  Lessing  him- 
self loved  to  deal.  It  is  humour  of  the  kind 
which  hits  the  mark,  and  reveals  the  truth.  In 
a  note  upon  this  passage,  Lessing  himself  said  : 
"  The  opinion  of  Nathan  upon  all  positive  reli- 
gions has  for  a  long  time  been  my  own."  Let 
him  who  has  the  genuine  ring  show  it  by  mak- 
ing himself  loved  of  God  and  man.  This  is  the 
central  idea  of  the  poem.  It  is  wholly  unlike 
the  iconoclasm  of  the  deists,  and,  coming  in 
the  eighteenth  century,  it  was  like  a  veritable 
evangel. 

"  Nathan  "  was  not  brought  out  until  three 
years  after  Lessing's  death,  and  it  kept  posses- 
sion of  the  stage  for  but  a  short  time.  In  a 
dramatic  point  of  view,  it  has  hardly  any  merits. 
Whatever  plot  there  is  in  it  is  weak  and  improb- 
able. The  decisive  incidents  seem  to  be  brought 
in  like  the  deus  ex  machina  of  the  later  Greek 
215 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

drama.  There  is  no  movement,  no  action,  no 
development.  The  characters  are  poetically 
but  not  dramatically  conceived.  Considered  as 
a  tragedy,  "  Nathan  "  would  be  weak  ;  consid- 
ered as  a  comedy,  it  would  be  heavy.  With 
full  knowledge  of  these  circumstances,  Lessing 
called  it  not  a  drama,  but  a  dramatic  poem ;  and 
he  might  have  called  it  still  more  accurately  a 
didactic  poem,  for  the  only  feature  which  it  has 
in  common  with  the  drama  is  that  the  person- 
ages use  the  oratio  directa. 

"  Nathan  "  is  a  didactic  poem  :  it  is  not  a 
mere  philosophic  treatise  written  in  verse,  like 
the  fragments  of  Xenophanes.  Its  lessons  are 
conveyed  concretely  and  not  abstractly ;  and  its 
characters  are  not  mere  lay  figures,  but  living 
poetical  conceptions.  Considered  as  a  poem 
among  classic  German  poems,  it  must  rank 
next  to,  though  immeasurably  below,  Goethe's 
"  Faust." 

There  are  two  contrasted  kinds  of  genius, 
the  poetical  and  the  philosophical ;  or,  to  speak 
yet  more  generally,  the  artistic  and  the  critical. 
The  former  is  distinguished  by  a  concrete,  the 
latter  by  an  abstract,  imagination.  The  former 
sees  things  synthetically,  in  all  their  natural 
complexity  ;  the  latter  pulls  things  to  pieces 
analytically,  and  scrutinizes  their  relations.  The 
former  sees  a  tree  in  all  its  glory,  where  the 
latter  sees  an  exogen  with  a  pair  of  cotyledons. 
216 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

The  former  sees  wholes,  where  the  latter  sees 
aggregates. 

Corresponding  with  these  two  kinds  of 
genius  there  are  two  classes  of  artistic  produc- 
tions. When  the  critical  genius  writes  a  poem 
or  a  novel,  he  constructs  his  plot  and  his  char- 
acters in  conformity  to  some  prearranged  theory, 
or  with  a  view  to  illustrate  some  favourite  doc- 
trine. When  he  paints  a  picture,  he  first  thinks 
how  certain  persons  would  look  under  certain 
given  circumstances,  and  paints  them  accord- 
ingly. When  he  writes  a  piece  of  music,  he 
first  decides  that  this  phrase  expresses  joy,  and 
that  phrase  disappointment,  and  the  other 
phrase  disgust,  and  he  composes  accordingly. 
We  therefore  say  ordinarily  that  he  does  not 
create,  but  only  constructs  and  combines.  It  is 
far  different  with  the  artistic  genius,  who,  with- 
out stopping  to  think,  sees  the  picture  and 
hears  the  symphony  with  the  eyes  and  ears  of 
imagination,  and  paints  and  plays  merely  what 
he  has  seen  and  heard.  When  Dante,  in  im- 
agination, arrived  at  the  lowest  circle  of  hell, 
where  traitors  like  Judas  and  Brutus  are  pun- 
ished, he  came  upon  a  terrible  frozen  lake, 
which,  he  says,  — 

"  Ever  makes  me  shudder  at  the  sight  of  frozen  pools." 

I  have  always  considered  this  line  a  marvellous 

instance  of  the  intensity  of  Dante's  imagination. 

217 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

It  shows,  too,  how  Dante  composed  his  poem. 
He  did  not  take  counsel  of  himself  and  say : 
"  Go  to,  let  us  describe  the  traitors  frozen  up 
to  their  necks  in  a  dismal  lake,  for  that  will  be 
most  terrible."  But  the  picture  of  the  lake,  in 
all  its  iciness,  with  the  haggard  faces  staring 
out  from  its  glassy  crust,  came  unbidden  before 
his  mind  with  such  intense  reality  that,  for  the 
rest  of  his  life,  he  could  not  look  at  a  frozen 
pool  without  a  shudder  of  horror.  He  described 
it  exactly  as  he  saw  it ;  and  his  description 
makes  us  shudder  who  read  it  after  all  the  cen- 
turies that  have  intervened.  So  Michael  Angelo, 
a  kindred  genius,  did  not  keep  cutting  and 
chipping  away,  thinking  how  Moses  ought  to 
look,  and  what  sort  of  a  nose  he  ought  to  have, 
and  in  what  position  his  head  might  best  rest 
upon  his  shoulders.  But  he  looked  at  the  rec- 
tangular block  of  Carrara  marble,  and  behold- 
ing Moses  grand  and  lifelike  within  it,  knocked 
away  the  environing  stone,  that  others  also 
might  see  the  mighty  figure.  And  so  Beethoven, 
an  artist  of  the  same  colossal  order,  wrote  out 
for  us  those  mysterious  harmonies  which  his 
ear  had  for  the  first  time  heard ;  and  which,  in 
his  mournful  old  age,  it  heard  none  the  less 
plainly  because  of  its  complete  physical  deaf- 
ness. And  in  this  way  Shakespeare  wrote  his 
"  Othello  ;  "  spinning  out  no  abstract  thoughts 
about  jealousy  and  its  fearful  effects  upon  a 
218 


NATHAN  THE  WISE 

proud  and  ardent  nature,  but  revealing  to  us 
the  living  concrete  man,  as  his  imperial  imagi- 
nation had  spontaneously  fashioned  him. 

Modern  psychology  has  demonstrated  that 
this  is  the  way  in  which  the  creative  artistic  im- 
agination proceeds.  It  has  proved  that  a  vast 
portion  of  all  our  thinking  goes  on  uncon- 
sciously ;  and  that  the  results  may  arise  into 
consciousness  piecemeal  and  gradually,  check- 
ing each  other  as  they  come  ;  or  that  they  may 
come  all  at  once,  with  all  the  completeness  and 
definiteness  of  perceptions  presented  from  with- 
out. The  former  is  the  case  with  the  critical, 
and  the  latter  with  the  artistic  intellect.  And 
this  we  recognize  imperfectly  when  we  talk  of 
a  genius  being  "inspired."  All  of  us  probably 
have  these  two  kinds  of  imagination  to  a  certain 
extent.  It  is  only  given  to  a  few  supremely 
endowed  persons  like  Goethe  to  possess  them 
both  to  an  eminent  degree.  Perhaps  of  no 
other  man  can  it  be  said  that  he  was  a  poet 
of  the  first  order,  and  as  great  a  critic  as  poet. 

It  is  therefore  apt  to  be  a  barren  criticism  which 
studies  the  works  of  creative  geniuses  in  order 
to  ascertain  what  theory  lies  beneath  them.  How 
many  systems  of  philosophy,  how  many  subtle 
speculations,  have  we  not  seen  fathered  upon 
Dante,  Cervantes,  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe  ! 
Yet  their  works  are,  in  a  certain  sense,  greater 
than  any  systems.  They  partake  of  the  infinite 
219 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

complexity  and  variety  of  nature,  and  no  more 
than  nature  itself  can  they  be  narrowed  down 
to  the  limits  of  a  precise  formula. 

Lessing  was  wont  to  disclaim  the  title  of 
poet ;  but,  as  Goethe  said,  his  immortal  works 
refute  him.  He  had  not  only  poetical,  but  dra- 
matic genius ;  and  his  "  Emilia  Galotti "  has 
kept  the  stage  until  to-day.  Nevertheless,  he 
knew  well  what  he  meant  when  he  said  that  he 
was  more  of  a  critic  than  a  poet.  His  genius  was 
mainly  of  the  critical  order  ;  and  his  great  work, 
"  Nathan  the  Wise,"  was  certainly  constructed 
rather  than  created.  It  was  intended  to  convey 
a  doctrine,  and  was  carefully  shaped  for  the  pur- 
pose. And  when  we  have  pronounced  it  the 
greatest  of  all  poems  that  have  been  written  for 
a  set  purpose,  and  admit  of  being  expressed  in 
a  definite  formula,  we  have  classified  it  with 
sufficient  accuracy. 

For  an  analysis  of  the  characters  in  the  poem, 
nothing  can  be  better  than  the  essay  by  Kuno 
Fischer,  appended  to  the  present  volume.  The 
work  of  translation  has  been  admirably  done ; 
and  thanks  are  due  to  Miss  Frothingham  for 
her  reproduction  of  this  beautiful  poem. 

June,  1868. 


220 


VIII 
HISTORICAL   DIFFICULTIES1 

HISTORY,  says  Sainte-Beuve,  is  in  great 
part  a  set  of  fables  which  people  agree 
to  believe  in.  And,  on  reading  books 
like  the  present,  one  certainly  needs  a  good  deal 
of  that  discipline  acquired  by  long  familiarity 
with  vexed  historical  questions,  in  order  to  check 
the  disposition  to  accept  the  great  critic's  iron- 
ical remark  in  sober  earnest.  Much  of  what  is 
currently  accredited  as  authentic  history  is  in 
fact  a  mixture  of  flattery  and  calumny,  myth 
and  fable.  Yet  in  this  set  of  fables,  whatever 
may  have  been  the  case  in  past  times,  people 
will  no  longer  agree  to  believe.  During  the  pre- 
sent century  the  criticism  of  recorded  events  has 
gone  far  towards  assuming  the  developed  and 
systematized  aspect  of  a  science,  and  canons  of 
belief  have  been  established  which  it  is  not  safe 
to  disregard.  Great  occurrences,  such  as  the 
Trojan  War  and  the  Siege  of  Thebes,  not  long 
ago  faithfully  described  by  all  historians  of 

1  Historical  Difficulties  and  Contested  Events.      By  Octave 
Delepierre,  LL.  D.,  F.  S.  A.,  Secretary  of  Legation  to  the 
King  of  the  Belgians.    8vo.    London  :  John  Murray.     1868. 
221 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Greece,  have  been  found  to  be  part  of  the  com- 
mon mythical  heritage  of  the  Aryan  nations. 
Achilleus  and  Helena,  Oidipous  and  lokasta, 
Oinone  and  Paris,  have  been  discovered  in  India 
and  again  in  Scandinavia,  and  so  on,  until  their 
nonentity  has  become  the  legitimate  inference 
from  their  very  ubiquity.  Legislators  like  Rom- 
ulus and  Numa,  inventors  like  Kadmos,  have 
evaporated  into  etymologies.  Whole  legions  of 
heroes,  dynasties  of  kings,  and  adulteresses  as 
many  as  Dante  saw  borne  on  the  whirlwind, 
have  vanished  from  the  face  of  history,  and  ter- 
rible has  been  the  havoc  in  the  opening  pages 
of  our  chronological  tables.  Nor  is  it  primitive 
history  alone  which  has  been  thus  metamor- 
phosed. Characters  unduly  exalted  or  defamed 
by  party  spirit  are  daily  being  set  before  us  in 
their  true,  or  at  least  in  a  truer  light.  What 
Mr.  Froude  has  done  for  Henry  VIII.  we 
know ;  and  he  might  have  done  more  if  he  had 
not  tried  to  do  so  much.  Humpbacked  Rich- 
ard turns  out  to  have  been  one  of  the  hand- 
somest kings  that  ever  sat  on  the  throne  of 
England.  Edward  I.,  in  his  dealings  with  Scot- 
land, is  seen  to  have  been  scrupulously  just ; 
while  the  dignity  of  the  patriot  hero  Wallace 
has  been  somewhat  impaired.  Elizabeth  is 
proved  to  have  befriended  the  false  Mary  Stu- 
art much  longer  than  was  consistent  with  her 
personal  safety.  Eloquent  Cicero  has  been  held 

222 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

up  as  an  object  of  contempt ;  and  even  weighty 
Tacitus  has  been  said  to  owe  much  of  his  repu- 
tation to  his  ability  to  give  false  testimony  with 
a  grave  face.  It  has  lately  been  suspected  that 
gloomy  Tiberius,  apart  from  his  gloominess, 
may  have  been  rather  a  good  fellow ;  not  so  licen- 
tious as  puritanical,  not  cruel  so  much  as  excep- 
tionally merciful,  —  a  rare  general,  a  sagacious 
statesman,  and  popular  to  boot  with  all  his  sub- 
jects save  the  malignant  oligarchy  which  he  con- 
sistently snubbed,  and  which  took  revenge  on 
him  by  writing  his  life.  And,  to  crown  all,  even 
Catiline,  abuser  of  our  patience,  seducer  of 
vestal  nuns,  and  drinker  of  children's  blood, — 
whose  very  name  suggests  murder,  incest,  and 
robbery,  —  even  Catiline  has  found  an  able  de- 
fender in  Professor  Beesly.  It  is  claimed  that 
Catiline  was  a  man  of  great  abilities  and  average 
good  character,  a  well-calumniated  leader  of  the 
Marian  party  which  Caesar  afterwards  led  to 
victory,  and  that  his  famous  plot  for  burning 
Rome  never  existed  save  in  the  unscrupulous 
Ciceronian  fancy.  And  those  who  think  it  easy 
to  refute  these  conclusions  of  Professor  Beesly 
had  better  set  to  work  and  try  it.  Such  are  a 
few  of  the  surprising  questions  opened  by  recent 
historical  research ;  and  in  the  face  of  them  the 
public  is  quite  excusable  if  it  declares  itself  at  a 
loss  what  to  believe. 

These,  however,  are  cases  in  which  criticism 
223 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

has  at  least  made  some  show  of  ascertaining  the 
truth  and  detecting  the  causes  of  the  prevalent 
misconception.  That  men  like  Catiline  and 
Tiberius  should  have  had  their  characters  black- 
ened is  quite  easily  explicable.  President  John- 
son would  have  little  better  chance  of  obtaining 
justice  at  the  hands  of  posterity,  if  the  most 
widely  read  history  of  his  administration  should 
happen  to  be  written  by  a  radical  member  of 
the  Rump  Congress.  But  the  cases  which  Mr. 
Delepierre  invites  us  to  contemplate  are  of  a 
different  character.  They  come  neither  under 
the  head  of  myths  nor  under  that  of  misrepre- 
sentations. Some  of  them  are  truly  vexed  ques- 
tions which  it  may  perhaps  always  be  impossible 
satisfactorily  to  solve.  Others  may  be  dealt 
with  more  easily,  but  afford  no  clue  to  the 
origin  of  the  popularly  received  error.  Let  us 
briefly  examine  a  few  of  Mr.  Delepierre's  "  dif- 
ficulties." And  first,  because  simplest,  we  will 
take  the  case  of  the  Alexandrian  Library. 

Every  one  has  heard  how  Amrou,  after  his 
conquest  of  Egypt,  sent  to  Caliph  Omar  to 
know  what  should  be  done  with  the  Alexandrian 
Library.  "  If  the  books  agree  with  the  Koran," 
said  the  Caliph,  "  they  are  superfluous  ;  if  they 
contradict  it,  they  are  damnable  ;  in  either  case, 
destroy  them."  So  the  books  were  taken  and 
used  to  light  the  fires  which  heated  water  for 
the  baths  ;  and  so  vast  was  the  number  that, 
224 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

used  in  this  way,  they  lasted  six  months  !  All 
this  happened  because  John  the  Grammarian 
was  over-anxious  enough  to  request  that  the 
books  might  be  preserved,  and  thus  drew  Am- 
rou's  attention  to  them.  Great  has  been  the 
obloquy  poured  upon  Omar  for  this  piece  of 
vandalism,  and  loud  has  been  the  mourning 
over  the  treasures  of  ancient  science  and  litera- 
ture supposed  to  have  been  irrecoverably  lost  in 
this  ignominious  conflagration.  Theologians, 
Catholic  and  Protestant,  have  been  fond  of 
quoting  it  as  an  instance  of  the  hostility  of  Ma- 
hometanism  to  knowledge,  and  we  have  even 
heard  an  edifying  sermon  preached  about  it. 
On  seeing  the  story  put  to  such  uses,  one  feels 
sometimes  like  using  the  ad  hominem  argument, 
and  quoting  the  wholesale  destruction  of  pagan 
libraries  under  Valens,  the  burning  of  books  by 
the  Latin  stormers  of  Constantinople,  the  al- 
leged annihilation  of  100,000  volumes  by  Gen- 
oese crusaders  at  Tripoli,  the  book-burning  ex- 
ploits of  Torquemada,  the  bonfire  of  80,000 
valuable  Arabic  manuscripts,  lighted  up  in  the 
square  of  Granada  by  order  of  Cardinal  Xi- 
menes,  and  the  irreparable  cremation  of  Aztec 
writings  by  the  first  Christian  bishops  of  Mex- 
ico. These  examples,  with  perhaps  others 
which  do  not  now  occur  to  us,  might  be  applied 
in  just  though  ungentle  retort  by  Mahometan 
doctors.  Yet  the  most  direct  rejoinder  would 
225 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

probably  not  occur  to  them  :  the  Alexandrian 
Library  was  not  destroyed  by  the  orders  of 
Omar,  and  the  whole  story  is  a  figment  ! 

The  very  pithiness  of  it,  so  characteristic  of 
th'e  excellent  but  bigoted  Omar,  is  enough  to 
cast  suspicion  upon  it.  De  Quincey  tells  us 
that  "  if  a  saying  has  a  proverbial  fame,  the 
probability  is  that  it  was  never  said."  How 
many  amusing  stories  stand  a  chance  of  going 
down  to  posterity  as  the  inventions  of  President 
Lincoln,  of  which,  nevertheless,  he  is  doubtless 
wholly  innocent !  How  characteristic  was  Cae- 
sar's reply  to  the  frightened  pilot !  Yet  in  all 
probability  Caesar  never  made  it. 

Now  for  the  evidence.  Alexandria  was  cap- 
tured by  Amrou  in  640.  The  story  of  the 
burning  of  the  library  occurs  for  the  first  time 
in  the  works  of  Abulpharagius,  who  flourished 
in  1264.  Six  hundred  years  had  elapsed.  It 
is  as  if  a  story  about  the  crusades  of  Louis  IX. 
were  to  be  found  for  the  first  time  in  the  writ- 
ings of  Mr.  Bancroft.  The  Byzantine  histo- 
rians were  furiously  angry  with  the  Saracens ; 
why  did  they,  one  and  all,  neglect  to  mention 
such  an  outrageous  piece  of  vandalism  ?  Their 
silence  must  be  considered  quite  conclusive. 
Moreover  we  know  "  that  the  caliphs  had  for- 
bidden under  severe  penalties  the  destruction  " 
of  Jewish  and  Christian  books,  a  circumstance 
wholly  inconsistent  with  this  famous  story. 
226 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

And  finally,  what  a  mediaeval  recklessness  of 
dates  is  shown  in  lugging  into  the  story  John 
the  Grammarian,  who  was  dead  and  in  his 
grave  when  Alexandria  was  taken  by  Amrou  ! 

But  the  chief  item  of  proof  remains  to  be 
mentioned.  The  Saracens  did  not  burn  the 
library,  because  there  was  no  library  there  for 
them  to  burn  !  It  had  been  destroyed  just  two 
hundred  and  fifty  years  before  by  a  rabble  of 
monks,  incited  by  the  patriarch  Theophilus, 
who  saw  in  such  a  vast  collection  of  pagan  lit- 
erature a  perpetual  insult  and  menace  to  reli- 
gion. In  the  year  390  this  turbulent  bigot 
sacked  the  temple  of  Serapis,  where  the  books 
were  kept,  and  drove  out  the  philosophers  who 
lodged  there.  Of  this  violent  deed  we  have 
contemporary  evidence,  for  Orosius  tells  us 
that  less  than  fifteen  years  afterwards,  while 
passing  through  Alexandria,  he  saw  the  empty 
shelves.  This  fact  disposes  of  the  story. 

Passing  from  Egypt  to  France,  and  from  the 
seventh  century  to  the  fifteenth,  we  meet  with 
a  much  more  difficult  problem.  That  Jeanne 
d'Arc  was  burnt  at  the  stake,  at  Rouen,  on  the 
joth  of  May,  1431,  and  her  bones  and  ashes 
thrown  into  the  Seine,  is  generally  supposed  to 
be  as  indisputable  as  any  event  in  modern  his- 
tory. Such  is,  however,  hardly  the  case.  Plau- 
sible evidence  has  been  brought  to  prove  that 
Jeanne  d'Arc  was  never  burnt  at  the  stake, 
227 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

but  lived  to  a  ripe  age,  and  was  even  happily 
married  to  a  nobleman  of  high  rank  and  repu- 
tation. We  shall  abridge  Mr.  Delepierre's 
statement  of  this  curious  case. 

In  the  archives  of  Metz,  Father  Vignier  dis- 
covered the  following  remarkable  entry  :  "  In 
the  year  1436,  Messire  Phlin  Marcou  was 
Sheriff  of  Metz,  and  on  the  2oth  day  of  May 
of  the  aforesaid  year  came  the  maid  Jeanne, 
who  had  been  in  France,  to  La  Grange  of  Ormes, 
near  St.  Prive,  and  was  taken  there  to  confer 
with  any  one  of  the  sieurs  of  Metz,  and  she 
called  herself  Claude  ;  and  on  the  same  day 
there  came  to  see  her  there  her  two  brothers, 
one  of  whom  was  a  knight,  and  was  called  Mes- 
sire Pierre,  and  the  other  *  petit  Jehan,'  a  squire, 
and  they  thought  that  she  had  been  burnt,  but 
as  soon  as  they  saw  her  they  recognized  her 
and  she  them.  And  on  Monday,  the  2ist  day 
of  the  said  month,  they  took  their  sister  with 
them  to  Boquelon,  and  the  sieur  Nicole,  being 
a  knight,  gave  her  a  stout  stallion  of  the  value 
of  thirty  francs,  and  a  pair  of  saddle-cloths ;  the 
sieur  Aubert  Boulle,  a  riding- hood  ;  the  sieur 
Nicole  Groguet,  a  sword  ;  and  the  said  maiden 
mounted  the  said  horse  nimbly,  and  said  sev- 
eral things  to  the  sieur  Nicole  by  which  he  well 
understood  that  it  was  she  who  had  been  in 
France ;  and  she  was  recognized  by  many 
tokens  to  be  the  maid  Jean  of  France  who 
228 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

escorted  King  Charles  to  Rheims,  and  several 
declared  that  she  had  been  burnt  in  Normandy, 
and  she  spoke  mostly  in  parables.  She  after- 
wards returned  to  the  town  of  Marnelle  for  the 
feast  of  Pentecost,  and  remained  there  about 
three  weeks,  and  then  set  off  to  go  to  Notre 
Dame  d' Alliance.  And  when  she  wished  to 
leave,  several  of  Metz  went  to  see  her  at  the 
said  Marnelle  and  gave  her  several  jewels,  and 
they  knew  well  that  she  was  the  maid  Jeanne 
of  France  ;  and  she  then  went  to  Erlon,  in  the 
Duchy  of  Luxembourg,  where  she  was  thronged, 
.  .  .  and  there  was  solemnized  the  marriage  of 
Monsieur  de  Hermoise,  knight,  and  the  said 
maid  Jeanne,  and  afterwards  the  said  sieur 
Hermoise,  with  his  wife,  the  Maid,  came  to  live 
at  Metz,  in  the  house  the  said  sieur  had,  oppo- 
site St.  Seglenne,  and  remained  there  until  it 
pleased  them  to  depart." 

This  is  surprising  enough  ;  but  more  remains 
behind.  Dining  shortly  afterwards  with  M.  des 
Armoises,  member  of  one  of  the  oldest  families 
in  Lorraine,  Father  Vignier  was  invited  to  look 
over  the  family  archives,  that  he  might  satisfy 
his  curiosity  regarding  certain  ancestors  of  his 
host.  And  on  looking  over  the  family  register, 
what  was  his  astonishment  at  finding  a  con- 
tract of  marriage  between  Robert  des  Armoises ', 
Knight,  and  Jeanne  d'y/rry,  the  so-called  Maid 
of  Orleans ! 

229 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

In  1740,  some  time  after  these  occurrences, 
there  was  found,  in  the  town  hall  of  Orleans, 
a  bill  of  one  Jacques  FArgentier,  of  the  year 
1436,  in  which  mention  is  made  of  a  small  sum 
paid  for  refreshments  furnished  to  a  messenger 
who  had  brought  letters  from  the  Maid  of  Or- 
leans, and  of  twelve  livres  given  to  Jean  du  Lis, 
brother  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  to  help  him  pay  the 
expenses  of  his  journey  back  to  his  sister.  Then 
come  two  charges  which  we  shall  translate  liter- 
ally. "  To  the  sieur  de  Lis,  i8th  October,  1436, 
for  a  journey  which  he  made  through  the  said 
city  while  on  his  way  to  the  Maid,  who  was  then 
at  Erlon  in  Luxembourg,  and  for  carrying  letters 
from  Jeanne  the  Maid  to  the  King  at  Loicher, 
where  he  was  then  staying,  six  livres."  And 
again:  "To  Renard  Brune,  25th  July,  1435, 
at  evening,  for  paying  the  hire  of  a  messenger 
who  was  carrying  letters  from  Jeanne  the  Maid, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  William  Beliers,  bailiff 
of  Troyes,  two  livres." 

As  no  doubt  has  been  thrown  upon  the  genu- 
ineness of  these  documents,  it  must  be  consid- 
ered established  that  in  1436,  five  years  after 
the  public  execution  at  Rouen,  a  young  woman, 
believed  to  be  the  real  Jeanne  d'Arc,  was  alive 
in  Lorraine  and  was  married  to  a  M.  Hermoise 
or  Armoises.  She  may,  of  course,  have  been  an 
impostor ;  but  in  this  case  it  is  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  her  brothers,  Jean  and  Pierre,  and  the 
230 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

people  of  Lorraine,  where  she  was  well  known, 
would  not  have  detected  the  imposture  at  once. 
And  that  Jean  du  Lis,  during  a  familiar  inter- 
course of  at  least  several  months,  as  indicated 
in  the  above  extracts,  should  have  continued  to 
mistake  a  stranger  for  his  own  sister,  with  whom 
he  had  lived  from  childhood,  seems  a  very  ab- 
surd supposition.  Nor  is  it  likely  that  an  im- 
postor would  have  exposed  herself  to  such  a 
formidable  test.  If  it  had  been  a  bold  charlatan 
who,  taking  advantage  of  the  quite  general  be- 
lief, to  which  we  have  ample  testimony,  that 
there  was  something  more  in  the  execution  at 
Rouen  than  was  allowed  to  come  to  the  surface, 
had  resolved  to  usurp  for  herself  the  honours  due 
to  the  woman  who  had  saved  France,  she  would 
hardly  have  gone  at  the  outset  to  a  part  of  the 
country  where  the  real  Maid  had  spent  nearly 
all  her  life.  Her  instant  detection  and  exposure, 
perhaps  a  disgraceful  punishment,  would  have 
been  inevitable.  But  if  this  person  were  the  real 
Jeanne,  escaped  from  prison  or  returning  from 
an  exile  dictated  by  prudence,  what  should  she 
have  done  but  go  straightway  to  the  haunts  of 
her  childhood,  where  she  might  meet  once  more 
her  own  friends  and  family  ? 

But  the   account    does    not    end    here.    M. 

Wallon,  in  his  elaborate  history  of  Jeanne  d' Arc, 

states  that  in   1436  the  supposed  Maid  visited 

France,  and  appears  to  have  met  some  of  the 

231 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

men-at-arms  with  whom  she  had  fought.  In 
1439  she  came  to  Orleans,  for  in  the  accounts 
of  the  town  we  read,  "  July  28,  for  ten  pints  of 
wine  presented  to  Jeanne  des  Armoises,  14 
sous."  And  on  the  day  of  her  departure,  the 
citizens  of  Orleans,  by  a  special  decree  of  the 
town-council,  presented  her  with  210  livres, 
"  for  the  services  which  she  had  rendered  to  the 
said  city  during  the  siege."  At  the  same  time 
the  annual  ceremonies  for  the  repose  of  her  soul 
were,  quite  naturally,  suppressed.  Now  we  may 
ask  if  it  is  at  all  probable  that  the  people  of 
Orleans,  who,  ten  years  before,  during  the  siege, 
must  have  seen  the  Maid  day  after  day,  and  to 
whom  her  whole  appearance  must  have  been 
perfectly  familiar,  would  have  been  likely  to 
show  such  attentions  as  these  to  an  impostor  ? 
"In  1440,"  says  Mr.  Delepierre,  "the  people 
so  firmly  believed  that  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  still 
alive,  and  that  another  had  been  sacrificed  in 
her  place,  that  an  adventuress  who  endeavoured 
to  pass  herself  off  as  the  Maid  of  Orleans  was 
ordered  by  the  government  to  be  exposed  before 
the  public  on  the  marble  Stone  of  the  palace  hall, 
in  order  to  prove  that  she  was  an  impostor. 
Why  were  not  such  measures  taken  against  the 
real  Maid  of  Orleans,  who  is  mentioned  in  so 
many  public  documents,  and  who  took  no  pains 
to  hide  herself?" 

There  is  yet  another  document  bearing  on 
232 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

this  case,  drawn  from  the  accounts  of  the  audi- 
tor of  the  Orleans  estate,  in  the  year  1444, 
which  we  will  here  translate.  "  An  island  on  the 
River  Loire  is  restored  to  Pierre  du  Lis,  knight, 
f  on  account  of  the  supplication  of  the  said 
Pierre,  alleging  that  for  the  acquittal  of  his  debt 
of  loyalty  toward  our  Lord  the  King  and  M.  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  he  left  his  country  to  come 
to  the  service  of  the  King  and  M.  the  Duke, 
accompanied  by  his  sister,  Jeanne  the  Maid, 
with  whom,  down  to  the  time  of  her  departure^ 
and  since ,  unto  the  present  time,  he  has  exposed 
his  body  and  goods  in  the  said  service,  and  in 
the  King's  wars,  both  in  resisting  the  former 
enemies  of  the  kingdom  who  were  besieging  the 
town  of  Orleans,  and  since  then  in  divers  enter- 
prises,' etc.,  etc."  Upon  this  Mr.  Delepierre 
justly  remarks  that  the  brother  might  have  pre- 
sented his  claims  in  a  much  stronger  light,  "  if 
in  1444,  instead  of  saying  cup  to  the  time  of 
her  departure,'  he  had  brought  forward  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  his  sister,  as  having  been  the  means 
of  saving  France  from  the  yoke  of  England." 
The  expression  here  cited  and  italicized  in  the 
above  translation,  may  indeed  be  held  to  refer 
delicately  to  her  death,  but  the  particular  French 
phrase  employed,  "  jusques  a  son  absentement" 
apparently  excludes  such  an  interpretation.  The 
expression,  on  the  other  hand,  might  well  refer 
to  Jeanne's  departure  for  Lorraine,  and  her  mar- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

riage,  after  which  there  is  no  evidence  that  she 
returned  to  France,  except  for  brief  visits. 

Thus  a  notable  amount  of  evidence  goes  to 
show  that  Jeanne  was  not  put  to  death  in 
1431,  as  usually  supposed,  but  was  alive,  mar- 
ried, and  flourishing  in  1444.  Upon  this  sup- 
position, certain  alleged  difficulties  in  the  tra- 
ditional account  are  easily  disposed  of.  Mr. 
Delepierre  urges  upon  the  testimony  of  Per- 
ceval de  Cagny,  that  at  the  execution  in  Rouen 
"  the  victim's  face  was  covered  when  walking 
to  the  stake,  while  at  the  same  time  a  spot  had 
been  chosen  for  the  execution  that  permitted 
the  populace  to  have  a  good  view.  Why  this 
contradiction  ?  A  place  is  chosen  to  enable  the 
people  to  see  everything,  but  the  victim  is 
carefully  hidden  from  their  sight."  Whether 
otherwise  explicable  or  not,  this  fact  is  cer- 
tainly consistent  with  the  hypothesis  that  some 
other  victim  was  secretly  substituted  for  Jeanne 
by  the  English  authorities. 

We  have  thus  far  contented  ourselves  with 
presenting  and  re-enforcing  Mr.  Delepierre's 
statement  of  the  case.  It  is  now  time  to  inter- 
pose a  little  criticism.  We  must  examine  our 
data  somewhat  more  closely,  for  vagueness  of 
conception  allows  a  latitude  to  belief  which  ac- 
curacy of  conception  considerably  restricts. 

On  the  hypothesis  of  her  survival,  where 
was  Jeanne,  and  what  was  she  doing  all  the 
234 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

time  from  her  capture  before  Compiegne,  May 
24,  1430,  until  her  appearance  at  Metz,  May 
20,  1436?  Mr.  Delepierre  reminds  us  that 
the  Duke  of  Bedford,  regent  of  France  for 
the  English  king,  died  in  1435,  an<^  "that 
most  probably  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  released  from 
prison  after  this  event."  Now  this  supposi- 
tion lands  us  in  a  fatally  absurd  conclusion. 
We  are,  in  fact,  asked  to  believe  that  the  Eng- 
lish, while  holding  Jeanne  fast  in  their  clutches, 
gratuitously  went  through  the  horrid  farce  of 
burning  some  one  else  in  her  stead  ;  and  that, 
after  having  thus  inexplicably  behaved,  they 
further  stultified  themselves  by  letting  her  go 
scot-free,  that  their  foolishness  might  be  duly 
exposed  and  confuted.  Such  a  theory  is  child- 
ish. If  Jeanne  d'Arc  ever  survived  the  3Oth 
May,  1431,  it  was  because  she  escaped  from 
prison  and  succeeded  in  hiding  herself  until 
safer  times.  When  could  she  have  done  this  ? 
In  a  sortie  from  Compiegne,  May  24,  1430, 
she  was  thrown  from  her  horse  by  a  Picard 
archer  and  taken  prisoner  by  the  Bastard  of 
Vendome,  who  sold  her  to  John  of  Luxem- 
bourg. John  kept  her  in  close  custody  at 
Beaulieu  until  August.  While  there,  she  made 
two  attempts  to  escape ;  first,  apparently,  by 
running  out  through  a  door,  when  she  was  at 
once  caught  by  the  guards  ;  secondly,  by  jump- 
ing from  a  high  window,  when  the  shock  of 

235 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  fall  was  so  great  that  she  lay  insensible  on 
the  ground  until  discovered.  She  was  then  re- 
moved to  Beaurevoir,  where  she  remained  un- 
til the  beginning  of  November.  By  this  time, 
Philip  "  the  Good,"  Duke  of  Burgundy,  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  sell  her  to  the  English 
for  10,000  francs;  and  Jeanne  was  accord- 
ingly taken  to  Arras,  and  thence  to  Cotoy, 
where  she  was  delivered  to  the  English  by 
Philip's  officers.  So  far,  all  is  clear ;  but  here 
it  may  be  asked,  was  she  really  delivered  to 
the  English,  or  did  Philip,  pocketing  his  10,- 
ooo  francs,  cheat  and  defraud  his  allies  with 
a  counterfeit  Jeanne  ?  Such  crooked  dealing 
would  have  been  in  perfect  keeping  with  his 
character.  Though  a  far  more  agreeable  and 
gentlemanly  person,  he  was  almost  as  consum- 
mate and  artistic  a  rascal  as  his  great-great- 
great-grandson  and  namesake,  Philip  II.  of 
Spain.  His  duplicity  was  so  unfathomable  and 
his  policy  so  obscure,  that  it  would  be  hardly 
safe  to  affirm  a  priori  that  he  might  not,  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  have  played  a 
double  game  with  his  friend  the  Duke  of  Bed- 
ford. On  this  hypothesis,  he  would  of  course 
keep  Jeanne  in  close  custody  so  long  as  there 
was  any  reason  for  keeping  his  treachery  secret. 
But  in  1436,  after  the  death  of  Bedford  and 
the  final  expulsion  of  the  English  from  France, 
no  harm  could  come  from  setting  her  at  liberty. 
236 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

But  as  soon  as  we  cease  to  reason  a  priori, 
this  is  seen  to  be,  after  all,  a  lame  hypothesis. 
No  one  can  read  the  trial  of  Jeanne  at  Rouen, 
the  questions  that  were  put  to  her  and  the 
answers  which  she  made,  without  being  con- 
vinced that  we  are  here  dealing  with  the  genu- 
ine Maid  and  not  with  a  substitute.  The 
first  step  of  a  counterfeit  Jeanne  would  have 
naturally  been  to  save  herself  from  the  flames 
by  revealing  her  true  character.  Moreover, 
among  the  multitudes  who  saw  her  during  her 
cruel  trial,  it  is  not  likely  that  none  were  ac- 
quainted with  the  true  Jeanne's  voice  and 
features.  We  must  therefore  conclude  that 
Jeanne  d'Arc  was  really  consigned  to  the  ten- 
der mercies  of  the  English.  About  the  2ist 
of  November  she  was  taken  on  horseback, 
strongly  guarded,  from  Cotoy  to  Rouen,  where 
the  trial  began  January  9,  1431.  On  the  2ist 
of  February  she  appeared  before  the  court ;  on 
the  I3th  of  March  she  was  examined  in  the 
prison  by  an  inquisitor;  and  on  May  24,  the 
Thursday  after  Pentecost,  upon  a  scaffold  con- 
spicuously placed  in  the  Cemetery  of  St.  Ouen, 
she  publicly  recanted,  abjuring  her  "  heresies  " 
and  asking  the  Church's  pardon  for  her  "  witch- 
craft." We  may  be  sure  that  the  Church  digni- 
taries would  not  knowingly  have  made  such 
public  display  of  a  counterfeit  Jeanne ;  nor 
could  they  well  have  been  deceived  themselves 

237 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

under  such  circumstances.  It  may  indeed  be 
said,  to  exhaust  all  possible  suppositions,  that 
a  young  girl  wonderfully  similar  in  feature  and 
voice  to  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  palmed  off  upon 
the  English  by  Duke  Philip,  and  afterwards, 
on  her  trial,  comported  herself  like  the  Maid, 
trusting  in  this  recantation  to  effect  her  re- 
lease. But  we  consider  such  an  hypothesis  ex- 
tremely far-fetched,  nor  does  it  accord  with  the 
events  which  immediately  followed.  It  seems 
hardly  questionable  that  it  was  the  real  Jeanne 
who  publicly  recanted  on  the  24th  of  May. 
This  was  only  six  days  before  the  execution. 
Four  days  after,  on  Monday  the  28th,  it  was 
reported  that  Jeanne  had  relapsed,  that  she 
had,  in  defiance  of  the  Church's  prohibition, 
clothed  herself  in  male  attire,  which  had  been 
left  in  a  convenient  place  by  the  authorities, 
expressly  to  test  her  sincerity.  On  the  next 
day  but  one,  the  woman  purporting  to  be  the 
Maid  of  Orleans  was  led  out,  with  her  face 
carefully  covered,  and  burnt  at  the  stake. 

Here  is  the  first  combination  of  circum- 
stances which  bears  a  suspicious  look.  It  dis- 
poses of  our  Burgundy  hypothesis,  for  a  false 
Jeanne,  after  recanting  to  secure  her  safety, 
would  never  have  stultified  herself  by  such  a 
barefaced  relapse.  But  the  true  Jeanne,  after 
recanting,  might  certainly  have  escaped.  Some 
compassionate  guard,  who  before  would  have 
238 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

scrupled  to  assist  her  while  under  the  ban  of 
the  Church,  might  have  deemed  himself  ex- 
cusable for  lending  her  his  aid  after  she  had 
been  absolved.  Postulating,  then,  that  Jeanne 
escaped  from  Rouen  between  the  24th  and  the 
28th,  how  shall  we  explain  what  happened  im- 
mediately afterwards  ? 

The  English  feared  Jeanne  d'Arc  as  much 
as  they  hated  her.  She  had,  by  her  mere  pre- 
sence at  the  head  of  the  French  army,  turned 
their  apparent  triumph  into  ignominious  de- 
feat. In  those  days  the  true  psychological 
explanation  of  such  an  event  was  by  no  means 
obvious.  While  the  French  attributed  the  re- 
sult to  celestial  interposition  in  their  behalf, 
the  English,  equally  ready  to  admit  its  super- 
natural character,  considered  the  powers  of 
hell  rather  than  those  of  heaven  to  have  been 
the  prime  instigators.  In  their  eyes  Jeanne 
was  a  witch,  and  it  was  at  least  their  cue  to 
exhibit  her  as  such.  They  might  have  put 
her  to  death  when  she  first  reached  Rouen. 
Some  persons,  indeed,  went  so  far  as  to  advise 
that  she  should  be  sewed  up  in  a  sack  and 
thrown  at  once  into  the  Seine ;  but  this  was 
not  what  the  authorities  wanted.  The  whole 
elaborate  trial,  and  the  extorted  recantation, 
were  devised  for  the  purpose  of  demonstrating 
her  to  be  a  witch,  and  thus  destroying  her 
credit  with  the  common  people.  That  theyin- 
239 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

tended  afterwards  to  burn  her  cannot  for  an 
instant  be  doubted  ;  that  was  the  only  fit  con- 
summation for  their  evil  work. 

Now  when,  at  the  end  of  the  week  after  Pen- 
tecost, the  bishops  and  inquisitors  at  Rouen 
learned,  to  their  dismay,  that  their  victim  had 
escaped,  what  were  they  to  do  ?  Confess  that 
they  had  been  foiled,  and  create  a  panic  in  the 
army  by  the  news  that  their  dreaded  enemy 
was  at  liberty  ?  Or  boldly  carry  out  their  pur- 
poses by  a  fictitious  execution,  trusting  in  the 
authority  which  official  statements  always  carry, 
and  shrewdly  foreseeing  that,  after  her  recanta- 
tion, the  disgraced  Maid  would  no  more  ven- 
ture to  claim  for  herself  the  leadership  of  the 
French  forces  ?  Clearly,  the  latter  would  have 
been  the  wiser  course.  We  may  assume,  then, 
that,  by  the  afternoon  of  the  28th,  the  story  of 
the  relapse  was  promulgated,  as  a  suitable  pre- 
paration for  what  was  to  come ;  and  that  on  the 
3Oth  the  poor  creature  who  had  been  hastily 
chosen  to  figure  as  the  condemned  Maid  was 
led  out,  with  face  closely  veiled,  to  perish  by  a 
slow  fire  in  the  old  market-place.  Meanwhile 
the  true  Jeanne  would  have  made  her  way, 
doubtless,  in  what  to  her  was  the  effectual  dis- 
guise of  a  woman's  apparel,  to  some  obscure 
place  of  safety,  outside  of  doubtful  France  and 
treacherous  Burgundy,  perhaps  in  Alsace  or  the 
Vosges.  Here  she  would  remain,  until  the 
240 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

final  expulsion  of  the  English  and  the  conclu- 
sion of  a  treaty  of  peace  in  1436  made  it  safe 
for  her  to  show  herself,  when  she  would  natu- 
rally return  to  Lorraine  to  seek  her  family. 

The  comparative  obscurity  in  which  she 
must  have  remained  for  the  rest  of  her  life, 
otherwise  quite  inexplicable  on  any  hypothesis 
of  her  survival,  is  in  harmony  with  the  above- 
given  explanation.  The  ingratitude  of  King 
Charles  towards  the  heroine  who  had  won  him 
his  crown  is  the  subject  of  common  historical 
remark.  M.  Wallon  insists  upon  the  circum- 
stance that,  after  her  capture  at  Compiegne,  no 
attempts  were  made  by  the  French  Court  to 
ransom  her  or  to  liberate  her  by  a  bold  coup  de 
main.  And  when,  at  Rouen,  she  appealed  in 
the  name  of  the  Church  to  the  Pope  to  grant 
her  a  fair  trial,  not  a  single  letter  was  written  by 
the  Archbishop  of  Rheims,  High  Chancellor 
of  France,  to  his  suffragan,  the  Bishop  of  Beau- 
vais,  demanding  cognizance  of  the  proceedings. 
Nor  did  the  King  make  any  appeal  to  the  Pope, 
to  prevent  the  consummation  of  the  judicial 
murder.  The  Maid  was  deliberately  left  to  her 
fate.  It  is  upon  her  enemies  at  court,  La  Tre- 
mouille  and  Regnault  de  Chartres,  that  we  must 
lay  part  of  the  blame  for  this  wicked  negligence. 
But  it  is  also  probable  that  the  King,  and  es- 
pecially his  clerical  advisers,  were  at  times  al- 
most disposed  to  acquiesce  in  the  theory  of 
241 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Jeanne's  witchcraft.  Admire  her  as  they  might, 
they  could  not  help  feeling  that  in  her  whole 
behaviour  there  was  something  uncanny  ;  and, 
after  having  reaped  the  benefits  of  her  assist- 
ance, they  were  content  to  let  her  shift  for  her- 
self. This  affords  the  clue  to  the  King's  in- 
consistencies. It  may  be  thought  sufficient  to 
explain  the  fact  that  Jeanne  is  said  to  have  re- 
ceived public  testimonials  at  Orleans,  while  we 
have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  she  visited  Paris. 
It  may  help  to  dispose  of  the  objection  that 
she  virtually  disappears  from  history  after  the 
date  of  the  tragedy  at  Rouen. 

Nevertheless,  this  last  objection  is  a  weighty 
one,  and  cannot  easily  be  got  rid  of.  It  appears 
to  me  utterly  incredible  that,  if  Jeanne  d'Arc 
had  really  survived,  we  should  find  no  further 
mention  of  her  than  such  as  haply  occurs  in  one 
or  two  town-records  and  dilapidated  account- 
books.  If  she  was  alive  in  1436,  and  corre- 
sponding with  the  King,  some  of  her  friends 
at  court  must  have  got  an  inkling  of  the  true 
state  of  things.  Why  did  they  not  parade  their 
knowledge,  to  the  manifest  discomfiture  of  La 
Tremouille  and  his  company  ?  Or  why  did 
not  Pierre  du  Lis  cause  it  to  be  proclaimed 
that  the  English  were  liars,  his  sister  being 
safely  housed  in  Metz  ? 

In  the  mere  interests  of  historical  criticism, 
we  have  said  all  that  we  could  in  behalf  of  Mr. 
242 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

Delepierre's  hypothesis.  But  as  to  the  facts 
upon  which  it  rests,  we  may  remark,  in  the 
first  place,  that  the  surname  Arc  or  "  Bow " 
was  not  uncommon  in  those  days,  while  the 
Christian  name  Jeanne  was  and  now  is  the  very 
commonest  of  French  names.  There  might 
have  been  a  hundred  Jeanne  d'Arcs,  all  defin- 
able as  fucelle  or  maid,  just  as  we  say  "  spin- 
ster :  "  we  even  read  of  one  in  the  time  of  the 
Revolution.  We  have,  therefore,  no  doubt  that 
Robert  des  Armoises  married  a  Jeanne  d'Arc, 
who  may  also  have  been  a  maid  of  Orleans; 
but  this  does  not  prove  her  to  have  been  the 
historic  Jeanne.  Secondly,  as  to  the  covering 
of  the  face,  we  may  mention  the  fact,  hitherto 
withheld,  that  it  was  by  no  means  an  uncom- 
mon circumstance :  the  victims  of  the  Spanish 
Inquisition  were  usually  led  to  the  stake  with 
veiled  faces.  Thirdly,  the  phrase  "jusques  a  son 
absentement  "  is  hopelessly  ambiguous,  and  may 
as  well  refer  to  Pierre  du  Lis  himself  as  to  his 
sister. 

These  brief  considerations  seem  to  knock 
away  all  the  main  props  of  Mr.  Delepierre's 
hypothesis,  save  that  furnished  by  the  apparent 
testimony  of  Jeanne's  brothers,  given  at  second- 
hand in  the  Metz  archives.  And  those  who 
are  familiar  with  the  phenomena  of  mediaeval 
delusions  will  be  unwilling  to  draw  too  hasty 
an  inference  from  this  alone.  From  the  Em- 

243 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

peror  Nero  to  Don  Sebastian  of  Portugal,  there 
have  been  many  instances  of  the  supposed  re- 
appearance of  persons  generally  believed  to  be 
dead.  For  my  own  part,  therefore,  I  am  by  no 
means  inclined  to  adopt  the  hypothesis  of 
Jeanne's  survival,  although  I  have  endeavoured 
to  give  it  tangible  shape  and  plausible  consist- 
ency. But  the  fact  that  so  much  can  be  said 
in  behalf  of  a  theory  running  counter  not  only 
to  universal  tradition,  but  also  to  such  a  vast 
body  of  contemporaneous  testimony,  should 
teach  us  to  be  circumspect  in  holding  our  opin- 
ions, and  charitable  in  our  treatment  of  those 
who  dissent  from  them.  For  those  who  can 
discover  in  the  historian  Renan  and  the  critic 
Strauss  nothing  but  the  malevolence  of  incredu- 
lity, the  case  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  duly  contem- 
plated, may  serve  as  a  wholesome  lesson. 

We  have  devoted  so  much  space  to  this 
problem,  by  far  the  most  considerable  of  those 
treated  in  Mr.  Delepierre's  book,  that  we  have 
hardly  room  for  any  of  the  others.  But  a  false 
legend  concerning  Solomon  de  Caus,  the  sup- 
posed original  inventor  of  the  steam-engine,  is 
so  instructive  that  we  must  give  a  brief  account 
of  it. 

In   1 834  "there  appeared  in  the  Musee  des 

Families  a  letter  from   the   celebrated   Marion 

Delorme,  supposed  to  have  been  written  on  the 

3d  February,  1641,  to  her  lover  Cinq-Mars." 

244 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

In  this  letter  it  is  stated  that  De  Caus  came 
four  years  ago  [1637]  from  Normandy,  to 
inform  the  King  concerning  a  marvellous  inven- 
tion which  he  had  made,  being  nothing  less 
than  the  application  of  steam  to  the  propulsion 
of  carriages.  "  The  Cardinal  [Richelieu]  dis- 
missed this  fool  without  giving  him  a  hearing." 
But  De  Caus,  nowise  discouraged,  followed 
close  upon  the  autocrat's  heels  wherever  he 
went,  and  so  teased  him,  that  the  Cardinal,  out 
of  patience,  sent  him  off  to  a  madhouse,  where 
he  passed  the  remainder  of  his  days  behind  a 
grated  window,  proclaiming  his  invention  to 
the  passengers  in  the  street,  and  calling  upon 
them  to  release  him.  Marion  gives  a  graphic 
account  of  her  visit,  accompanied  by  the  famous 
Lord  Worcester,  to  the  asylum  at  Bicetre, 
where  they  saw  De  Caus  at  his  window ;  and 
Worcester,  in  whose  mind  the  conception  of 
the  steam-engine  was  already  taking  shape, 
informed  her  that  the  raving  prisoner  was  not  a 
madman,  but  a  genius.  A  great  stir  was  made 
by  this  letter.  The  anecdote  was  copied  into 
standard  works,  and  represented  in  engravings. 
Yet  it  was  a  complete  hoax.  De  Caus  was  not 
only  never  confined  in  a  madhouse,  but  he  was 
architect  to  Louis  XIII.  up  to  the  time  of  his 
death,  in  1630,  just  eleven  years  before  Marion 
Delorme  was  said  to  have  seen  him  at  his  grated 
window ! 

245 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

"  On  tracing  this  hoax  to  its  source,"  says 
Mr.  Delepierre,  "we  find  that  M.  Henri  Ber- 
thoud,  a  literary  man  of  some  repute,  and  a 
constant  contributor  to  the  Musee  des  Famillesy 
confesses  that  the  letter  attributed  to  Marion 
was  in  fact  written  by  himself.  The  editor  of 
this  journal  had  requested  Gavarni  to  furnish 
him  with  a  drawing  for  a  tale  in  which  a  mad- 
man was  introduced  looking  through  the  bars 
of  his  cell.  The  drawing  was  executed  and 
engraved,  but  arrived  too  late ;  and  the  tale, 
which  could  not  wait,  appeared  without  the 
illustration.  However,  as  the  wood-engraving 
was  effective,  and,  moreover,  was  paid  for,  the 
editor  was  unwilling  that  it  should  be  useless. 
Berthoud  was,  therefore,  commissioned  to  look 
for  a  subject  and  to  invent  a  story  to  which  the 
engraving  might  be  applied.  Strangely  enough, 
the  world  refused  to  believe  in  M.  Berthoud's 
confession,  so  great  a  hold  had  the  anecdote 
taken  on  the  public  mind  ;  and  a  Paris  news- 
paper went  so  far  even  as  to  declare  that  the 
original  autograph  of  this  letter  was  to  be  seen 
in  a  library  in  Normandy!  M.  Berthoud  wrote 
again,  denying  its  existence,  and  offered  a  mil- 
lion francs  to  any  one  who  would  produce  the 
said  letter." 

From  this  we  may  learn  two  lessons,  the  first 
being  that  utterly  baseless  but  plausible  stories 
may  arise  in  queer  ways.  In  the  above  case,  the 
246 


HISTORICAL  DIFFICULTIES 

most  far-fetched  hypothesis  to  account  for  the 
origin  of  the  legend  could  hardly  have  been  as 
apparently  improbable  as  the  reality.  Secondly, 
we  may  learn  that  if  a  myth  once  gets  into  the 
popular  mind,  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  get  it 
out  again.  In  the  Castle  of  Heidelberg  there 
is  a  portrait  of  De  Caus,  and  a  folio  volume  of 
his  works,  accompanied  by  a  note,  in  which  this, 
letter  of  Marion  Delorme  is  unsuspectingly 
cited  as  genuine.  And  only  three  years  ago, 
at  a  public  banquet  at  Limoges,  a  well-known 
French  Senator  and  man  of  letters  made  a 
speech,  in  which  he  retailed  the  story  of  the 
madhouse  for  the  edification  of  his  hearers. 
Truly  a  popular  error  has  as  many  lives  as  a 
cat ;  it  comes  walking  in  long  after  you  have 
imagined  it  effectually  strangled. 

In  conclusion,  we  may  remark  that  Mr.  Dele- 
pierre  does  very  scant  justice  to  many  of  the 
interesting  questions  which  he  discusses.  It  is 
to  be  regretted  that  he  has  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  argue  his  points  more  thoroughly, 
and  that  he  has  not  been  more  careful  in  mak- 
ing statements  of  fact.  He  sometimes  makes 
strange  blunders,  the  worst  of  which,  perhaps,  is 
contained  in  his  article  on  Petrarch  and  Laura. 
He  thinks  Laura  was  merely  a  poetical  alle- 
gory, and  such  was  the  case,  he  goes  on  to  say, 
"  with  Dante  himself,  whose  Beatrice  was  a 


247 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

child  who  died  at  nine  years  of  age."  Dante's 
Beatrice  died  on  the  pth  of  June,  1290,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-four,  having  been  the  wife  of 
Simone  dei  Bardi  rather  more  than  three  years. 

October,  1868. 


248 


IX 

THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL1 

NO  intelligent  reader  can  advance  fifty 
pages  in  this  volume  without  becoming 
aware  that  he  has  got  hold  of  a  very 
remarkable  book.  Mr.  Hunter's  style,  to  begin 
with,  is  such  as  is  written  only  by  men  of  large 
calibre  and  high  culture.  No  words  are  wasted. 
The  narrative  flows  calmly  and  powerfully 
along,  like  a  geometrical  demonstration,  omit- 
ting nothing  which  is  significant,  admitting 
nothing  which  is  irrelevant,  glowing  with  all  the 
warmth  of  rich  imagination  and  sympathetic 
genius,  yet  never  allowing  any  overt  manifes- 
tation of  feeling,  ever  concealing  the  author's 
personality  beneath  the  unswerving  exposition 
of  the  subject-matter.  That  highest  art,  which 
conceals  art,  Mr.  Hunter  appears  to  have 
learned  well.  With  him,  the  curtain  is  the  pic- 
ture. 

1  The  Annals  of  Rural  Bengal  By  W.  W.  Hunter. 
Vol.  i.  The  Ethnical  Frontier  of  Lower  Bengal,  with  the 
Ancient  Principalities  of  Beerbhoom  and  Bishenpore.  Second 
Edition.  New  York:  Leypoldt  and  Holt.  1868.  8vo, 
pp.  xvi,  475. 

249 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Such  a  style  as  this  would  suffice  to  make 
any  book  interesting,  in  spite  of  the  remoteness 
of  the  subject.  But  the  "  Annals  of  Rural  Ben- 
gal "  do  not  concern  us  so  remotely  as  one 
might  at  first  imagine.  The  phenomena  of  the 
moral  and  industrial  growth  or  stagnation  of  a 
highly-endowed  people  must  ever  possess  the 
interest  of  fascination  for  those  who  take  heed 
of  the  maxim  that  "  history  is  philosophy  teach- 
ing by  example."  National  prosperity  depends 
upon  circumstances  sufficiently  general  to  make 
the  experience  of  one  country  of  great  value 
to  another,  though  ignorant  Bourbon  dynasties 
and  Rump  Congresses  refuse  to  learn  the  les- 
son. It  is  of  the  intimate  e very-day  life  of  rural 
Bengal  that  Mr.  Hunter  treats.  He  does  not, 
like  old  historians,  try  our  patience  with  a  bead- 
roll  of  names  that  have  earned  no  just  title  to 
remembrance,  or  dazzle  us  with  a  bountiful  dis- 
play of  "  barbaric  pearls  and  gold,"  or  lead  us 
in  the  gondolas  of  Buddhist  kings  down  sacred 
rivers,  amid  <f  a  summer  fanned  with  spice ; " 
but  he  describes  the  labours  and  the  sufferings, 
the  mishaps  and  the  good  fortune,  of  thirty 
millions  of  people,  who,  however  dusky  may  be 
their  hue,  tanned  by  the  tropical  suns  of  fifty 
centuries,  are  nevertheless  members  of  the 
imperial  Aryan  race,  descended  from  the  cool 
highlands  eastward  of  the  Caspian,  where,  long 
before  the  beginning  of  recorded  history,  their 
250 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

ancestors  and  those  of  the  Anglo-American  were 
indistinguishably  united  in  the  same  primitive 
community. 

The  narrative  portion  of  the  present  volume 
is  concerned  mainly  with  the  social  and  econom- 
ical disorganization  wrought  by  the  great  famine 
of  1770,  and  with  the  attempts  of  the  English 
government  to  remedy  the  same.  The  remain- 
der of  the  book  is  occupied  with  inquiries  into 
the  ethnic  character  of  the  population  of  Bengal, 
and  particularly  with  an  exposition  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  the  language,  religion,  customs,  and 
institutions  of  the  Santals,  or  hill-tribes  of 
Beerbhoom.  A  few  remarks  on  the  first  of 
these  topics  may  not  be  uninteresting. 

Throughout  the  entire  course  of  recorded 
European  history,  from  the  remote  times  of 
which  the  Homeric  poems  preserve  the  dim 
tradition  down  to  the  present  moment,  there 
has  occurred  no  calamity  at  once  so  sudden  and 
of  such  appalling  magnitude  as  the  famine  which 
in  the  spring  and  summer  of  1770  nearly  exter- 
minated the  ancient  civilization  of  Bengal.  It 
presents  that  aspect  of  preternatural  vastness 
which  characterizes  the  continent  of  Asia  and  all 
that  concerns  it.  The  Black  Death  of  the  four- 
teenth century  was,  perhaps,  the  most  fearful 
visitation  which  has  ever  afflicted  the  Western 
world.  But  in  the  concentrated  misery  which 
it  occasioned  the  Bengal  famine  surpassed  it, 
251 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

even  as  the  Himalayas  dwarf  by  comparison  the 
highest  peaks  of  Switzerland.  It  is,  moreover, 
the  key  to  the  history  of  Bengal  during  the  next 
forty  years ;  and  as  such,  merits,  from  an  eco- 
nomical point  of  view,  closer  attention  than  it 
has  hitherto  received. 

Lower  Bengal  gathers  in  three  harvests  each 
year  ;  in  the  spring,  in  the  early  autumn,  and  in 
December,  the  last  being  the  great  rice-crop,  the 
harvest  on  which  the  sustenance  of  the  people 
depends.  Through  the  year  1769  there  was 
great  scarcity,  owing  to  the  partial  failure  of  the 
crops  of  1768,  but  the  spring  rains  appeared  to 
promise  relief,  and  in  spite  of  the  warning  ap- 
peals of  provincial  officers,  the  government  was 
slow  to  take  alarm,  and  continued  rigorously  to 
enforce  the  land-tax.  But  in  September  the 
rains  suddenly  ceased.  Throughout  the  au- 
tumn there  ruled  a  parching  drought ;  and  the 
rice-fields,  according  to  the  description  of  a  na- 
tive superintendent  of  Bishenpore,  "  became 
like  fields  of  dried  straw."  Nevertheless,  the 
government  at  Calcutta  made  —  with  one  lam- 
entable exception,  hereafter  to  be  noticed  —  no 
legislative  attempt  to  meet  the  consequences 
of  this  dangerous  condition  of  things.  The 
administration  of  local  affairs  was  still,  at  that 
date,  intrusted  to  native  officials.  The  whole 
internal  regulation  was  in  the  hands  of  the  fa- 
mous Muhamad  Reza  Khan.  Hindu  or  Mus- 
252 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

sulman  assessors  pried  into  every  barn  and 
shrewdly  estimated  the  probable  dimensions  of 
the  crops  on  every  field  ;  and  the  courts,  as  well 
as  the  police,  were  still  in  native  hands.  "  These 
men,"  says  our  author,  "  knew  the  country,  its 
capabilities,  its  average  yield,  and  its  average  re- 
quirements, with  an  accuracy  that  the  most 
painstaking  English  official  can  seldom  hope  to 
attain  to.  They  had  a  strong  interest  in  repre- 
senting things  to  be  worse  than  they  were ;  for 
the  more  intense  the  scarcity,  the  greater  the 
merit  in  collecting  the  land-tax.  Every  con- 
sultation is  filled  with  their  apprehensions  and 
highly-coloured  accounts  of  the  public  distress  ; 
but  it  does  not  appear  that  the  conviction  en- 
tered the  minds  of  the  Council  during  the  pre- 
vious winter  months,  that  the  question  was  not 
so  much  one  of  revenue  as  of  depopulation." 
In  fact,  the  local  officers  had  cried  "Wolf!" 
too  often.  Government  was  slow  to  believe 
them,  and  announced  that  nothing  better  could 
be  expected  than  the  adoption  of  a  generous 
policy  toward  those  landholders  whom  the 
loss  of  harvest  had  rendered  unable  to  pay 
their  land-tax.  But  very  few  indulgences  were 
granted,  and  the  tax  was  not  diminished,  but 
on  the  contrary  was,  in  the  month  of  April, 
1770,  increased  by  ten  per  cent  for  the  follow- 
ing year.  The  character  of  the  Bengali  people 
must  also  be  taken  into  the  account  in  explain- 
253 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ing  this  strange  action  on  the  part  of  the  gov- 
ernment. 

"  From  the  first  appearance  of  Lower  Bengal 
in  history,  its  inhabitants  have  been  reticent, 
self-contained,  distrustful  of  foreign  observa- 
tion, in  a  degree  without  parallel  among  other 
equally  civilized  nations.  The  cause  of  this  taci- 
turnity will  afterwards  be  clearly  explained ; 
but  no  one  who  is  acquainted  either  with  the 
past  experiences  or  the  present  condition  of  the 
people  can  be  ignorant  of  its  results.  Local 
officials  may  write  alarming  reports,  but  their 
apprehensions  seem  to  be  contradicted  by  the 
apparent  quiet  that  prevails.  Outward,  palpable 
proofs  of  suffering  are  often  wholly  wanting ; 
and  even  when,  as  in  1770,  such  proofs  abound, 
there  is  generally  no  lack  of  evidence  on  the 
other  side.  The  Bengali  bears  existence  with  a 
composure  that  neither  accident  nor  chance  can 
ruffle.  He  becomes  silently  rich  or  uncomplain- 
ingly poor.  The  emotional  part  of  his  nature  is 
in  strict  subjection,  his  resentment  enduring  but 
unspoken,  his  gratitude  of  the  sort  that  silently 
descends  from  generation  to  generation.  The 
passion  for  privacy  reaches  its  climax  in  the 
domestic  relations.  An  outer  apartment,  in 
even  the  humblest  households,  is  set  apart  for 
strangers  and  the  transaction  of  business,  but 
everything  behind  it  is  a  mystery.  The  most 
intimate  friend  does  not  venture  to  make  those 
254 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

commonplace  kindly  inquiries  about  a  neigh- 
bour's wife  or  daughter  which  European  cour- 
tesy demands  from  mere  acquaintances.  This 
family  privacy  is  maintained  at  any  price.  Dur- 
ing the  famine  of  1866  it  was  found  impossible 
to  render  public  charity  available  to  the  female 
members  of  the  respectable  classes,  and  many 
a  rural  household  starved  slowly  to  death  with- 
out uttering  a  complaint  or  making  a  sign. 

"All  through  the  stifling  summer  of  1770 
the  people  went  on  dying.  The  husbandmen 
sold  their  cattle  ;  they  sold  their  implements  of 
agriculture  ;  they  devoured  their  seed-grain ; 
they  sold  their  sons  and  daughters,  till  at  length 
no  buyer  of  children  could  be  found  ;  they  ate 
the  leaves  of  trees  and  the  grass  of  the  fields  ; 
and  in  June,  1770,  the  Resident  at  the  Durbar 
affirmed  that  the  living  were  feeding  on  the 
dead.  Day  and  night  a  torrent  of  famished  and 
disease-stricken  wretches  poured  into  the  great 
cities.  At  an  early  period  of  the  year  pestilence 
had  broken  out.  In  March  we  find  small-pox 
at  Moorshedabad,  where  it  glided  through  the 
vice-regal  mutes,  and  cut  off  the  Prince  Syfut 
in  his  palace.  The  streets  were  blocked  up  with 
promiscuous  heaps  of  the  dying  and  dead.  In- 
terment could  not  do  its  work  quick  enough  ; 
even  the  dogs  and  jackals,  the  public  scavengers 
of  the  East,  became  unable  to  accomplish  their 
revolting  work,  and  the  multitude  of  mangled 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  festering  corpses  at  length  threatened  the 
existence  of  the  citizens.  ...  In  1770,  the 
rainy  season  brought  relief,  and  before  the  end 
of  September  the  province  reaped  an  abundant 
harvest.  But  the  relief  came  too  late  to  avert 
depopulation.  Starving  and  shelterless  crowds 
crawled  despairingly  from  one  deserted  village 
to  another  in  a  vain  search  for  food,  or  a  resting- 
place  in  which  to  hide  themselves  from  the  rain. 
The  epidemics  incident  to  the  season  were  thus 
spread  over  the  whole  country ;  and,  until  the 
close  of  the  year,  disease  continued  so  prevalent 
as  to  form  a  subject  of  communication  from  the 
government  in  Bengal  to  the  Court  of  Direc- 
tors. Millions  of  famished  wretches  died  in  the 
struggle  to  live  through  the  few  intervening 
weeks  that  separated  them  from  the  harvest, 
their  last  gaze  being  probably  fixed  on  the 
densely-covered  fields  that  would  ripen  only 
a  little  too  late  for  them.  .  .  .  Three  months 
later,  another  bountiful  harvest,  the  great  rice- 
crop  of  the  year,  was  gathered  in.  Abundance 
returned  to  Bengal  as  suddenly  as  famine  had 
swooped  down  upon  it,  and  in  reading  some  of 
the  manuscript  records  of  December  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  realize  that  the  scenes  of  the  preceding 
ten  months  have  not  been  hideous  phantas- 
magoria or  a  long,  troubled  dream.  On  Christ- 
mas eve,  the  Council  in  Calcutta  wrote  home 
to  the  Court  of  Directors  that  the  scarcity  had 
256 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

entirely  ceased,  and,  incredible  as  it  may  seem, 
that  unusual  plenty  had  returned.  ...  So  gen- 
erous had  been  the  harvest  that  the  govern- 
ment proposed  at  once  to  lay  in  its  military 
stores  for  the  ensuing  year,  and  expected  to  ob- 
tain them  at  a  very  cheap  rate." 

Such  sudden  transitions  from  the  depths  of 
misery  to  the  most  exuberant  plenty  are  by  no 
means  rare  in  the  history  of  Asia,  where  the  va- 
rious centres  of  civilization  are,  in  an  economi- 
cal sense,  so  isolated  from  each  other  that  the 
welfare  of  the  population  is  nearly  always  abso- 
lutely dependent  on  the  irregular  and  apparently 
capricious  bounty  of  nature.  For  the  three  years 
following  fhe  dreadful  misery  above  described, 
harvests  of  unprecedented  abundance  were 
gathered  in.  Yet  how  inadequate  they  were  to 
repair  the  fearful  damage  wrought  by  six  months 
of  starvation,  the  history  of  the  next  quarter  of  a 
century  too  plainly  reveals.  "  Plenty  had  indeed 
returned,"  says  our  annalist,  "  but  it  had  re- 
turned to  a  silent  and  deserted  province."  The 
extent  of  the  depopulation  is  to  our  Western  im- 
aginations almost  incredible.  During  those  six 
months  of  horror,  more  than  ten  millions  of  peo- 
ple had  perished  !  It  was  as  if  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  our  three  or  four  largest  States  —  man, 
woman,  and  child  —  were  to  be  utterly  swept 
away  between  now  and  next  August,  leaving 
the  region  between  the  Hudson  and  Lake 
257 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Michigan  as  quiet  and  deathlike  as  the  buried 
streets  of  Pompeii.  Yet  the  estimate  is  based 
upon  most  accurate  and  trustworthy  official  re- 
turns ;  and  Mr.  Hunter  may  well  say  that  "  it 
represents  an  aggregate  of  individual  suffering 
which  no  European  nation  has  been  called  upon 
to  contemplate  within  historic  times." 

This  unparalleled  calamity  struck  down  im- 
partially the  rich  and  the  poor.  The  old,  aristo- 
cratic families  of  Lower  Bengal  were  irretrievably 
ruined.  The  Rajah  of  Burdwan,  whose  posses- 
sions were  so  vast  that,  travel  as  far  as  he  would, 
he  always  slept  under  a  roof  of  his  own  and 
within  his  own  jurisdiction,  died  in  such  indi- 
gence that  his  son  had  to  melt  down  the  family 
plate  and  beg  a  loan  from  the  government  in 
order  to  discharge  his  father's  funeral  expenses. 
And  our  author  gives  other  similar  instances. 
The  wealthy  natives  who  were  appointed  to 
assess  and  collect  the  internal  revenue,  being 
unable  to  raise  the  sums  required  by  the  gov- 
ernment, were  in  many  cases  imprisoned,  or 
their  estates  were  confiscated  and  re-let  in  order 
to  discharge  the  debt. 

For  fifteen  years  the  depopulation  went  on 
increasing.  The  children  in  a  community,  re- 
quiring most  nourishment  to  sustain  their  activ- 
ity, are  those  who  soonest  succumb  to  famine. 
"  Until  1785,"  says  our  author,  "  the  old  died 
off  without  there  being  any  rising  generation  to 

258 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

step  into  their  places."  From  lack  of  cultiva- 
tors, one  third  of  the  surface  of  Bengal  fell  out 
of  tillage  and  became  waste  land.  The  landed 
proprietors  began  each  "  to  entice  away  the  ten- 
ants of  his  neighbour,  by  offering  protection 
against  judicial  proceedings,  and  farms  at  very 
low  rents."  The  disputes  and  deadly  feuds 
which  arose  from  this  practice  were,  perhaps,  the 
least  fatal  of  the  evil  results  which  flowed  from 
it.  For  the  competition  went  on  until,  the  ten- 
ants obtaining  their  holdings  at  half-rates,  the 
resident  cultivators  —  who  had  once  been  the 
wealthiest  farmers  in  the  country  —  were  no 
longer  able  to  compete  on  such  terms.  They 
began  to  sell,  lease,  or  desert  their  property, 
migrating  to  less  afflicted  regions,  or  flying  to 
the  hills  on  the  frontier  to  adopt  a  savage  life. 
But,  in  a  climate  like  that  of  Northeastern  In- 
dia, it  takes  but  little  time  to  transform  a  tract 
of  untilled  land  into  formidable  wilderness. 
When  the  functions  of  society  are  impeded,  na- 
ture is  swift  to  assert  its  claims.  And  accord- 
ingly, in  1789,  "  Lord  Cornwallis,  after  three 
years'  vigilant  inquiry,  pronounced  one  third  of 
the  company's  territories  in  Bengal  to  be  a  jun- 
gle, inhabited  only  by  wild  beasts." 

On  the  Western  frontier  of  Beerbhoom  the 

state  of  affairs  was,  perhaps,  most  calamitous. 

In  1776,  four  acres  out  of  every  seven  remained 

untilled.    Though  in  earlier  times  this  district 

259 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

had  been  a  favourite  highway  for  armies,  by  the 
year  1780  it  had  become  an  almost  impassable 
jungle.  A  small  company  of  Sepoys,  which  in 
that  year  by  heroic  exertions  forced  its  way 
through,  was  obliged  to  traverse  1 20  miles  of 
trackless  forest,  swarming  with  tigers  and  black 
shaggy  bears.  In  1789  this  jungle  "  continued 
so  dense  as  to  shut  off  all  communication  be- 
tween the  two  most  important  towns,  and  to 
cause  the  mails  to  be  carried  by  a  circuit  of  fifty 
miles  through  another  district." 

Such  a  state  of  things  it  is  difficult  for  us  to 
realize  ;  but  the  monotonous  tale  of  disaster 
and  suffering  is  not  yet  complete.  Beerbhoom 
was,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  given  over  to 
tigers.  "  A  belt  of  jungle,  filled  with  wild  beasts, 
formed  round  each  village."  At  nightfall  the 
hungry  animals  made  their  dreaded  incursions, 
carrying  away  cattle,  and  even  women  and  chil- 
dren, and  devouring  them.  "  The  official  rec- 
ords frequently  speak  of  the  mail-bag  being 
carried  off  by  wild  beasts."  So  great  was  the 
damage  done  by  these  depredations,  that  "  the 
company  offered  a  reward  for  each  tiger's  head, 
sufficient  to  maintain  a  peasant's  family  in  com- 
fort for  three  months ;  an  item  of  expenditure 
it  deemed  so  necessary,  that,  when  under  ex- 
traordinary pressure  it  had  to  suspend  all  pay- 
ments, the  tiger-money  and  diet  allowance  for 
prisoners  were  the  sole  exceptions  to  the  rule." 
260 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

Still  more  formidable  foes  were  found  in  the 
herds  of  wild  elephants,  which  came  trooping 
along  in  the  rear  of  the  devastation  caused  by 
the  famine.  In  the  course  of  a  few  years  fifty- 
six  villages  were  reported  as  destroyed  by  ele- 
phants, and  as  having  lapsed  into  jungle  in 
consequence  ;  "  and  an  official  return  states  that 
forty  market-towns  throughout  the  district  had 
been  deserted  from  the  same  cause.  In  many 
parts  of  the  country  the  peasantry  did  not  dare 
to  sleep  in  their  houses,  lest  they  should  be 
buried  beneath  them  during  the  night."  These 
terrible  beasts  continued  to  infest  the  province 
as  late  as  1810. 

But  society  during  these  dark  days  had  even 
worse  enemies  than  tigers  and  elephants.  The 
barbarous  highlanders,  of  a  lower  type  of  man- 
kind, nourishing  for  forty  centuries  a  hatred  of 
their  Hindu  supplanters,  like  that  which  the 
Apache  bears  against  the  white  frontiersman, 
seized  the  occasion  to  renew  their  inroads  upon 
the  lowland  country.  Year  by  year  they  de- 
scended from  their  mountain  fastnesses,  plun- 
dering and  burning.  Many  noble  Hindu  fami- 
lies, ousted  by  the  tax-collectors  from  their 
estates,  began  to  seek  subsistence  from  robbery. 
Others,  consulting  their  selfish  interests  amid 
the  general  distress,  "  found  it  more  profitable 
to  shelter  banditti  on  their  estates,  levying  black- 
mail from  the  surrounding  villages  as  the  price 
261 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  immunity  from  depredation,  and  sharing  in 
the  plunder  of  such  as  would  not  come  to  terms. 
Their  country  houses  were  robber  strongholds, 
and  the  early  English  administrators  of  Bengal 
have  left  it  on  record  that  a  gang-robbery  never 
occurred  without  a  landed  proprietor  being  at 
the  bottom  of  it."  The  peasants  were  not  slow 
to  follow  suit,  and  those  who  were  robbed  of 
their  winter's  store  had  no  alternative  left  but 
to  become  robbers  themselves.  The  thieveries 
of  the  Fakeers,  or  religious  mendicants,  and  the 
bold,  though  stealthy  attacks  of  Thugs  and 
Dacoits  —  members  of  Masonic  brotherhoods 
which  at  all  times  have  lived  by  robbery  and 
assassination — added  to  the  general  turmoil. 
In  the  cold  weather  of  1772  the  province  was 
ravaged  far  and  wide  by  bands  of  armed  free- 
booters, fifty  thousand  strong;  and  to  such  a 
pass  did  things  arrive  that  the  regular  forces  sent 
by  Warren  Hastings  to  preserve  order  were  twice 
disastrously  routed  ;  while,  in  Mr.  Hunter's 
graphic  language,  "  villages  high  up  the  Ganges 
lived  by  housebreaking  in  Calcutta."  In  Eng- 
lish mansions  "  it  was  the  invariable  practice  for 
the  porter  to  shut  the  outer  door  at  the  com- 
mencement of  each  meal,  and  not  to  open  it  till 
the  butler  brought  him  word  that  the  plate  was 
safely  locked  up."  And  for  a  long  time  nearly 
all  traffic  ceased  upon  the  imperial  roads. 

This  state  of  things,  which  amounted  to  chronic 
262 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

civil  war,  induced  Lord  Cornwallis  in  1788  to 
place  the  province  under  the  direct  military 
control  of  an  English  officer.  The  administration 
of  Mr.  Keating  —  the  first  hardy  gentleman  to 
whom  this  arduous  office  was  assigned  —  is  mi- 
nutely described  by  our  author.  For  our  present 
purpose  it  is  enough  to  note  that  two  years  of 
severe  campaigning,  attended  and  followed  by 
relentless  punishment  of  all  transgressors,  was 
required  to  put  an  end  to  the  disorders. 

Such  was  the  appalling  misery,  throughout  a 
community  of  thirty  million  persons,  occasioned 
by  the  failure  of  the  winter  rice-crop  in  1769. 
In  abridging  Mr.  Hunter's  account  we  have  ad- 
hered as  closely  to  our  original  as  possible,  but 
he  who  would  obtain  adequate  knowledge  of 
this  tale  of  woe  must  seek  it  in  the  ever  memo- 
rable description  of  the  historian  himself.  The 
first  question  which  naturally  occurs  to  the 
reader — though,  as  Mr.  Hunter  observes,  it 
would  have  been  one  of  the  last  to  occur  to  the 
Oriental  mind  —  is,  Who  was  to  blame?  To 
what  culpable  negligence  was  it  due  that  such  a 
dire  calamity  was  not  foreseen,  and  at  least  par- 
tially warded  off?  We  shall  find  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  it  could  not  have  been  adequately 
foreseen,  and  that  no  legislative  measures  could 
in  that  state  of  society  have  entirely  prevented 
it.  Yet  it  will  appear  that  the  government,  with 
the  best  of  intentions,  did  all  in  its  power  to 
263 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

make  matters  worse ;  and  that  to  its  blundering 
ignorance  the  distress  which  followed  is  largely 
due. 

The  first  duty  incumbent  upon  the  govern- 
ment in  a  case  like  that  of  the  failure  of  the  winter 
rice-crop  of  1769  was  to  do  away  with  all  hin- 
drance to  the  importation  of  food  into  the  pro- 
vince. One  chief  cause  of  the  far-reaching  distress 
wrought  by  great  Asiatic  famines  has  been  the  al- 
most complete  commercial  isolation  of  Asiatic 
communities.  In  the  Middle  Ages  the  European 
communities  were  also,  though  to  a  far  less  ex- 
tent, isolated  from  each  other,  and  in  those  days 
periods  of  famine  were  comparatively  frequent 
and  severe.  And  one  of  the  chief  causes  which 
now  render  the  occurrence  of  a  famine  on  a  great 
scale  almost  impossible  in  any  part  of  the  civi- 
lized world  is  the  increased  commercial  solidarity 
of  civilized  nations.  Increased  facility  of  distri- 
bution has  operated  no  less  effectively  than  im- 
proved methods  of  production. 

Now,  in  1770  the  province  of  Lower  Bengal 
was  in  a  state  of  almost  complete  commercial 
isolation  from  other  communities.  Importation 
of  food  on  an  adequate  scale  was  hardly  possi- 
ble. "  A  single  fact  speaks  volumes  as  to  the 
isolation  of  each  district.  An  abundant  harvest, 
we  are  repeatedly  told,  was  as  disastrous  to  the 
revenues  as  a  bad  one ;  for,  when  a  large  quan- 
tity of  grain  had  to  be  carried  to  market,  the 
264 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

cost  of  carriage  swallowed  up  the  price  obtained. 
Indeed,  even  if  the  means  of  intercommunication 
and  transport  had  rendered  importation  practi- 
cable, the  province  had  at  that  time  no  money 
to  give  in  exchange  for  food.  Not  only  had 
its  various  divisions  a  separate  currency  which 
would  pass  nowhere  else  except  at  a  ruinous 
exchange,  but  in  that  unfortunate  year  Ben- 
gal seems  to  have  been  utterly  drained  of  its 
specie.  .  .  .  The  absence  of  the  means  of  im- 
portation was  the  more  to  be  deplored,  as  the 
neighbouring  districts  could  easily  have  supplied 
grain.  In  the  southeast  a  fair  harvest  had  been 
reaped,  except  in  circumscribed  spots  ;  and  we 
are  assured  that,  during  the  famine,  this  part  of 
Bengal  was  enabled  to  export  without  having 
to  complain  of  any  deficiency  in  consequence. 
.  .  .  Indeed,  no  matter  how  local  a  famine  might 
be  in  the  last  century r,  the  effects  were  equally  dis- 
astrous. Sylhet,  a  district  in  the  northeast  of 
Bengal,  had  reaped  unusually  plentiful  harvests 
in  1780  and  1781,  but  the  next  crop  was  de- 
stroyed by  a  local  inundation,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing the  facilities  for  importation  afforded  by 
water-carriage,  one  third  of  the  people  died." 

Here  we  have  a  vivid  representation  of  the 
economic  condition  of  a  society  which,  however 
highly  civilized  in  many  important  respects,  still 
retained,  at  the  epoch  treated  of,  its  aboriginal 
type  of  organization.  Here  we  see  each  com- 
265 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

munity  brought  face  to  face  with  the  impossible 
task  of  supplying,  unaided,  the  deficiencies  of 
nature.  We  see  one  petty  district  a  prey  to  the 
most  frightful  destitution,  even  while  profuse 
plenty  reigns  in  the  districts  round  about  it. 
We  find  an  almost  complete  absence  of  the  com- 
mercial machinery  which,  by  enabling  the  starv- 
ing region  to  be  fed  out  of  the  surplus  of  more 
favoured  localities,  has  in  the  most  advanced 
countries  rendered  a  great  famine  practically 
impossible. 

Now  this  state  of  things  the  government  of 
1770  was  indeed  powerless  to  remedy.  Legis- 
lative power  and  wisdom  could  not  anticipate 
the  invention  of  railroads ;  nor  could  it  intro- 
duce throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
Bengal  a  system  of  coaches,  canals,  and  cara- 
vans ;  nor  could  it  all  at  once  do  away  with  the 
time-honoured  brigandage  which  increased  the 
cost  of  transport  by  decreasing  the  security  of 
it ;  nor  could  it  in  a  trice  remove  the  curse 
of  a  heterogeneous  coinage.  None,  save  those 
uninstructed  agitators  who  believe  that  govern- 
ments can  make  water  run  up-hill,  would  be 
disposed  to  find  fault  with  the  authorities  in 
Bengal  for  failing  to  cope  with  these  difficulties. 
But  what  we  are  to  blame  them  for  —  though  it 
was  an  error  of  the  judgment  and  not  of  the 
intentions  —  is  their  mischievous  interference 
with  the  natural  course  of  trade,  by  which, 
266 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

instead  of  helping  matters,  they  but  added  an- 
other to  the  many  powerful  causes  which  were 
conspiring  to  bring  about  the  economic  ruin 
of  Bengal.  We  refer  to  the  act  which  in  1770 
prohibited  under  penalties  all  speculation  in 
rice. 

This  disastrous  piece  of  legislation  was  due 
to  the  universal  prevalence  of  a  prejudice  from 
which  so-called  enlightened  communities  are 
not  yet  wholly  free.  It  is  even  now  customary 
to  heap  abuse  upon  those  persons  who  in  a 
season  of  scarcity,  when  prices  are  rapidly 
rising,  buy  up  the  "  necessaries  of  life,"  thereby 
still  increasing  for  a  time  the  cost  of  living. 
Such  persons  are  commonly  assailed  with  spe- 
cious generalities  to  the  effect  that  they  are 
enemies  of  society.  People  whose  only  ideas 
are  "  moral  ideas "  regard  them  as  heartless 
sharpers  who  fatten  upon  the  misery  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  And  it  is  sometimes  hinted 
that  such  "  practices  "  ought  to  be  stopped  by 
legislation. 

Now,  so  far  is  this  prejudice,  which  is  a  very 
old  one,  from  being  justified  by  facts,  that, 
instead  of  being  an  evil,  speculation  in  bread- 
stuffs  and  other  necessaries  is  one  of  the  chief 
agencies  by  which  in  modern  times  and  civilized 
countries  a  real  famine  is  rendered  almost  im- 
possible. This  natural  monopoly  operates  in 
two  ways.  In  the  first  place,  by  raising  prices, 
267 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

it  checks  consumption,  putting  every  one  on 
shorter  allowance  until  the  season  of  scarcity 
is  over,  and  thus  prevents  the  scarcity  from 
growing  into  famine.  In  the  second  place,  by 
raising  prices,  it  stimulates  importation  from 
those  localities  where  abundance  reigns  and 
prices  are  low.  It  thus  in  the  long  run  does 
much  to  equalize  the  pressure  of  a  time  of 
dearth  and  diminish  those  extreme  oscillations 
of  prices  which  interfere  with  the  even,  healthy 
course  of  trade.  A  government  which  in  a 
season  of  high  prices  does  anything  to  check 
such  speculation,  acts  about  as  sagely  as  the 
skipper  of  a  wrecked  vessel  who  should  refuse 
to  put  his  crew  upon  half  rations. 

The  turning-point  of  the  great  Dutch  Revo- 
lution, so  far  as  it  concerned  the  provinces 
which  now  constitute  Belgium,  was  the  famous 
siege  and  capture  of  Antwerp  by  Alexander 
Farnese,  Duke  of  Parma.  The  siege  was  a 
long  one,  and  the  resistance  obstinate,  and  the 
city  would  probably  not  have  been  captured  if 
famine  had  not  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  be- 
siegers. It  is  interesting,  therefore,  to  inquire 
what  steps  the  civic  authorities  had  taken  to  pre- 
vent such  a  calamity.  They  knew  that  the  strug- 
gle before  them  was  likely  to  be  the  life-and- 
death  struggle  of  the  Southern  Netherlands ; 
they  knew  that  there  was  risk  of  their  being 
surrounded  so  that  relief  from  without  would  be 
268 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

impossible  ;  they  knew  that  their  assailant  was 
one  of  the  most  astute  and  unconquerable  of  men, 
by  far  the  greatest  general  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury. Therefore  they  proceeded  to  do  just  what 
our  Republican  Congress,  under  such  circum- 
stances, would  probably  have  done,  andjust  what 
the  "  New  York  Tribune,"  if  it  had  existed  in 
those  days,  would  have  advised  them  to  do. 
Finding  that  sundry  speculators  were  accumulat- 
ing and  hoarding  up  provisions  in  anticipation 
of  a  season  of  high  prices,  they  hastily  decided, 
first  of  all  to  put  a  stop  to  such  "  selfish  in- 
iquity." In  their  eyes  the  great  thing  to  be 
done  was  to  make  things  cheap.  They  therefore 
affixed  a  very  low  maximum  price  to  everything 
which  could  be  eaten,  and  prescribed  severe 
penalties  for  all  who  should  attempt  to  take 
more  than  the  sum  by  law  decreed.  If  a  baker 
refused  to  sell  his  bread  for  a  price  which  would 
have  been  adequate  only  in  a  time  of  great 
plenty,  his  shop  was  to  be  broken  open,  and 
his  loaves  distributed  among  the  populace.  The 
consequences  of  this  idiotic  policy  were  two- 
fold. 

In  the  first  place,  the  enforced  lowness  of 
prices  prevented  any  breadstuff's  or  other  pro- 
visions from  being  brought  into  the  city.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  Farnese  succeeded  in  so 
blockading  the  Scheldt  as  to  prevent  ships 
laden  with  eatables  from  coming  in  below. 
269 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Corn  and  preserved  meats  might  have  been 
hurried  by  thousands  of  tons  into  the  belea- 
guered city.  Friendly  Dutch  vessels,  freighted 
with  abundance,  were  waiting  at  the  mouth  of 
the  river.  But  all  to  no  purpose.  No  merchant 
would  expose  his  valuable  ship,  with  its  cargo, 
to  the  risk  of  being  sunk  by  Farnese's  batteries, 
merely  for  the  sake  of  finding  a  market  no 
better  than  a  hundred  others  which  could  be 
entered  without  incurring  danger.  No  doubt 
if  the  merchants  of  Holland  had  followed  out 
the  maxim  Vivre  pour  autrui^  they  would  have 
braved  ruin  and  destruction  rather  than  behold 
their  neighbours  of  Antwerp  enslaved.  No 
doubt  if  they  could  have  risen  to  a  broad  philo- 
sophic view  of  the  future  interests  of  the 
Netherlands,  they  would  have  seen  that  Ant- 
werp must  be  saved,  no  matter  if  some  of  them 
were  to  lose  money  by  it.  But  men  do  not  yet 
sacrifice  themselves  for  their  fellows,  nor  do 
they  as  a  rule  look  far  beyond  the  present 
moment  and  its  emergencies.  And  the  business 
of  government  is  to  legislate  for  men  as  they 
are,  not  as  it  is  supposed  they  ought  to  be.  If 
provisions  had  brought  a  high  price  in  Antwerp, 
they  would  have  been  carried  thither.  As  it 
was,  the  city,  by  its  own  stupidity,  blockaded 
itself  far  more  effectually  than  Farnese  could 
have  done  it. 

In  the  second  place,  the  enforced  lowness  of 
270 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

prices  prevented  any  general  retrenchment  on 
the  part  of  the  citizens.  Nobody  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  economize.  Every  one  bought  as  much 
bread,  and  ate  it  as  freely,  as  if  the  government 
by  insuring  its  cheapness  had  insured  its  abun- 
dance. Si  So  the  city  lived  in  high  spirits  and 
in  gleeful  defiance  of  its  besiegers,  until  all  at 
once  provisions  gave  out,  and  the  government 
had  to  step  in  again  to  palliate  the  distress 
which  it  had  wrought.  It  constituted  itself 
quartermaster-general  to  the  community,  and 
doled  out  stinted  rations  alike  to  rich  and  poor, 
with  that  stern  democratic  impartiality  peculiar 
to  times  of  mortal  peril.  But  this  served  only, 
like  most  artificial  palliatives,  to  lengthen  out 
the  misery.  At  the  time  of  the  surrender,  not 
a  loaf  of  bread  could  be  obtained  for  love  or 
money. 

In  this  way  a  bungling  act  of  legislation 
helped  to  decide  for  the  worse  a  campaign 
which  involved  the  territorial  integrity  and 
future  welfare  of  what  might  have  become  a 
great  nation  performing  a  valuable  function  in 
the  system  of  European  communities. 

The  striking  character  of  this  instructive 
example  must  be  our  excuse  for  presenting  it 
at  such  length.  At  the  beginning  of  the  famine 
in  Bengal  the  authorities  legislated  in  very 
much  the  same  spirit  as  the  burghers  who  had 
to  defend  Antwerp  against  Parma. 
271 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

"  By  interdicting  what  it  was  pleased  to 
term  the  monopoly  of  grain,  it  prevented  prices 
from  rising  at  once  to  their  natural  rates. 
The  Province  had  a  certain  amount  of  food  in 
it,  and  this  food  had  to  last  about  nine  months. 
Private  enterprise  if  left  to  itself  would  have 
stored  up  the  general  supply  at  the  harvest, 
with  a  view  to  realizing  a  larger  profit  at  a 
later  period  in  the  scarcity.  Prices  would  in 
consequence  have  immediately  risen,  compel- 
ling the  population  to  reduce  their  consump- 
tion from  the  very  beginning  of  the  dearth. 
The  general  stock  would  thus  have  been  hus- 
banded, and  the  pressure  equally  spread  over 
the  whole  nine  months,  instead  of  being  con- 
centrated upon  the  last  six.  The  price  of 
grain,  in  place  of  promptly  rising  to  three  half- 
pence a  pound  as  in  1865-66,  continued  at 
three  farthings  during  the  earlier  months  of 
the  famine.  During  the  latter  ones  it  advanced 
to  twopence,  and  in  certain  localities  reached 
fourpence." 

The  course  taken  by  the  great  famine  of 
1866  well  illustrates  the  above  views.  This 
famine,  also,  was  caused  by  the  total  failure  of 
the  December  rice-crop,  and  it  was  brought  to 
a  close  by  an  abundant  harvest  in  the  succeed- 
ing year. 

"  Even    as    regards    the    maximum     price 
reached,  the  analogy  holds  good,  in  each  case 
272 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

rice  having  risen  in  general  to  nearly  two- 
pence, and  in  particular  places  to  fourpence,  a 
pound ;  and  in  each  the  quoted  rates  being 
for  a  brief  period  in  several  isolated  localities 
merely  nominal,  no  food  existing  in  the  mar- 
ket, and  money  altogether  losing  its  inter- 
changeable value.  In  both  the  people  endured 
silently  to  the  end,  with  a  fortitude  that  cas- 
ual observers  of  a  different  temperament  and 
widely  dissimilar  race  may  easily  mistake  for 
apathy,  but  which  those  who  lived  among  the 
sufferers  are  unable  to  distinguish  from  qualities 
that  generally  pass  under  a  more  honourable 
name.  During  1866,  when  the  famine  was 
severest,  I  superintended  public  instruction 
throughout  the  southwestern  division  of  Lower 
Bengal,  including  Orissa.  The  subordinate 
native  officers,  about  eight  hundred  in  num- 
ber, behaved  with  a  steadiness,  and  when  called 
upon,  with  a  self-abnegation,  beyond  praise. 
Many  of  them  ruined  their  health.  The  touch- 
ing scenes  of  self-sacrifice  and  humble  heroism 
which  I  witnessed  among  the  poor  villagers  on 
my  tours  of  inspection  will  remain  in  my 
memory  till  my  latest  day." 

But  to  meet  the  famine  of  1866  Bengal  was 
equipped  with  railroads  and  canals,  and  better 
than  all,  with  an  intelligent  government.  Far 
from  trying  to  check  speculation,  as  in  1770, 
the  government  did  all  in  its  power  to  stimu- 
273 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

late  it.  In  the  earlier  famine  one  could  hardly 
engage  in  the  grain  trade  without  becoming 
amenable  to  the  law.  "In  1866  respectable 
men  in  vast  numbers  went  into  the  trade  ;  for 
government,  by  publishing  weekly  returns  of 
the  rates  in  every  district,  rendered  the  traffic 
both  easy  and  safe.  Every  one  knew  where  to 
buy  grain  cheapest,  and  where  to  sell  it  dearest, 
and  food  was  accordingly  brought  from  the 
districts  that  could  best  spare  it,  and  carried  to 
those  which  most  urgently  needed  it.  Not 
only  were  prices  equalized  so  far  as  possible 
throughout  the  stricken  parts,  but  the  publicity 
given  to  the  high  rates  in  Lower  Bengal  in- 
duced large  shipments  from  the  upper  pro- 
vinces, and  the  chief  seat  of  the  trade  became 
unable  to  afford  accommodation  for  landing  the 
vast  stores  of  grain  brought  down  the  river. 
Rice  poured  into  the  affected  districts  from  all 
parts,  —  railways,  canals,  and  roads  vigorously 
doing  their  duty." 

The  result  of  this  wise  policy  was  that  scar- 
city was  heightened  into  famine  only  in  one 
remote  corner  of  Bengal.  Orissa  was  commer- 
cially isolated  in  1866,  as  the  whole  country 
had  been  in  1770.  "  As  far  back  as  the  records 
extend,  Orissa  has  produced  more  grain  than  it 
can  use.  It  is  an  exporting,  not  an  importing 
province,  sending  away  its  surplus  grain  by 
sea,  and  neither  requiring  nor  seeking  any  com- 
274 


THE  FAMINE  OF  1770  IN  BENGAL 

munication  with  Lower  Bengal  by  land."  Long 
after  the  rest  of  the  province  had  begun  to 
prepare  for  a  year  of  famine,  Orissa  kept  on 
exporting.  In  March,  when  the  alarm  was 
first  raised,  the  southwest  monsoon  had  set  in, 
rendering  the  harbours  inaccessible.  Thus  the 
district  was  isolated.  It  was  no  longer  possi- 
ble to  apply  the  wholesome  policy  which  was 
operating  throughout  the  rest  of  the  country. 
The  doomed  population  of  Orissa,  like  pas- 
sengers in  a  ship  without  provisions,  were 
called  upon  to  suffer  the  extremities  of  famine  ; 
and  in  the  course  of  the  spring  and  summer  of 
1866,  some  seven  hundred  thousand  people 
perished. 

January ,  1869. 


275 


SPAIN  AND   THE   NETHERLANDS1 

TANDEM  fit  surculus  arbor :  the  twig 
which  Mr.  Motley  in  his  earlier  vol- 
umes has  described  as  slowly  putting 
forth  its  leaves  and  rootlets,  while  painfully 
struggling  for  existence  in  a  hostile  soil,  has  at 
last  grown  into  a  mighty  tree  of  liberty,  drawing 
sustenance  from  all  lands,  and  protecting  all 
civilized  peoples  with  its  pleasant  shade.  We 
congratulate  Mr.  Motley  upon  the  successful 
completion  of  the  second  portion  of  his  great 
work;  and  we  think  that  the  Netherlanders 
of  our  time  have  reason  to  be  grateful  to  the 
writer  who  has  so  faithfully  and  eloquently  told 
the  story  of  their  country's  fearful  struggle 
against  civil  and  ecclesiastical  tyranny,  and  its 
manifold  contributions  to  the  advancement  of 
European  civilization. 

Mr.  Motley  has  been  fortunate  in  his  selec- 
tion of  a  subject  upon  which  to  write.  Probably 

1  History  of  the  United  Netherlands  :  from  the  Death  of 
William  the  Silent  to  the  Twelve  Years'  Truce,  1609.  By 
John  Lothrop  Motley,  D.  C.  L.  In  four  volumes.  Vols. 
iii.  and  iv.  New  York.  1868. 

276 


John  Lothrop  Motley 


' 

Sutions  to  the  adv: 
•ation. 
ey  has  been 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

no  century  of  modern  times  lends  itself  to  the 
purposes  of  the  descriptive  historian  so  well  as 
the  sixteenth.  While  on  the  one  hand  the  prob- 
lems which  it  presents  are  sufficiently  near  for 
us  to  understand  them  without  too  great  an 
effort  of  the  imagination,  on  the  other  hand 
they  are  sufficiently  remote  for  us  to  study 
them  without  passionate  and  warping  prejudice. 
The  contest  between  Catholicism  and  the  re- 
formed religion  —  between  ecclesiastical  auto- 
cracy and  the  right  of  private  investigation  — 
has  become  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  constitutes 
a  closed  chapter  in  human  history.  The  epoch 
which  begins  where  Mr.  Motley's  history  is 
designed  to  close  —  at  the  peace  of  Westphalia 
—  is  far  more  complicated.  Since  the  middle 
of  the  seventeenth  century  a  double  movement 
has  been  going  on  in  religion  and  philosophy, 
society  and  politics,  —  a  movement  of  destruc- 
tion typified  by  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  and  a 
constructive  movement  represented  by  Diderot 
and  Lessing.  We  are  still  living  in  the  midst 
of  this  great  epoch  :  the  questions  which  it  pre- 
sents are  liable  to  disturb  our  prejudices  as  well 
as  to  stimulate  our  reason  ;  the  results  to  which 
it  must  sooner  or  later  attain  can  now  be  only 
partially  foreseen ;  and  even  its  present  tenden- 
cies are  generally  misunderstood,  and  in  many 
quarters  wholly  ignored.  With  the  sixteenth 
century,  as  we  have  said,  the  case  is  far  differ- 
277 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ent.  The  historical  problem  is  far  less  complex. 
The  issues  at  stake  are  comparatively  simple, 
and  the  historian  has  before  him  a  straightfor- 
ward story. 

From  the  dramatic,  or  rather  from  the  epic, 
point  of  view,  the  sixteenth  century  is  pre-emi- 
nent. The  essentially  transitional  character  of 
modern  history  since  the  breaking  up  of  the 
papal  and  feudal  systems  is  at  no  period  more 
distinctly  marked.  In  traversing  the  sixteenth 
century  we  realize  that  we  have  fairly  got  out 
of  one  state  of  things  and  into  another.  At  the 
outset,  events  like  the  challenge  of  Barletta  may 
make  us  doubt  whether  we  have  yet  quite  left 
behind  the  Middle  Ages.  The  belief  in  the 
central  position  of  the  earth  is  still  universal, 
and  the  belief  in  its  rotundity  not  yet,  until 
the  voyage  of  Magellan,  generally  accepted. 
We  find  England  —  owing  partly  to  the  intro- 
duction of  gunpowder  and  the  consequent  dis- 
use of  archery,  partly  to  the  results  of  the  recent 
integration  of  France  under  Louis  XI.  —  fallen 
back  from  the  high  relative  position  which  it 
had  occupied  under  the  rule  of  the  Plantage- 
nets ;  and  its  policy  still  directed  in  accordance 
with  reminiscences  of  Agincourt,  and  Barnet, 
and  Burgundian  alliances.  We  find  France  just 
beginning  her  ill-fated  career  of  intervention  in 
the  affairs  of  Italy;  and  Spain,  with  her  Moors 
finally  vanquished  and  a  new  world  beyond  the 
278 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

ocean  just  added  to  her  domain,  rapidly  devel- 
oping into  the  greatest  empire  which  had  been 
seen  since  the  days  of  the  first  Caesars.  But  at 
the  close  of  the  century  we  find  feudal  life  in 
castles  changed  into  modern  life  in  towns ;  chi- 
valric  defiances  exchanged  for  over-subtle  diplo- 
macy; Maurices  instead  of  Bayards;  a  Henry 
IV.  instead  of  a  Gaston  de  Foix.  We  find  the 
old  theory  of  man's  central  position  in  the  uni- 
verse —  the  foundation  of  the  doctrine  of  final 
causes  and  of  the  whole  theological  method 
of  interpreting  nature  —  finally  overthrown  by 
Copernicus.  Instead  of  the  circumnavigability 
of  the  earth,  the  discovery  of  a  Northwest  pas- 
sage —  as  instanced  by  the  heroic  voyage  of 
Barendz,  so  nobly  described  by  Mr.  Motley  — 
is  now  the  chief  geographical  problem.  East 
India  Companies,  in  place  of  petty  guilds  of 
weavers  and  bakers,  bear  witness  to  the  vast 
commercial  progress.  We  find  England,  fresh 
from  her  stupendous  victory  over  the  whole 
power  of  Spain,  again  in  the  front  rank  of  na- 
tions ;  France,  under  the  most  astute  of  mod- 
ern sovereigns,  taking  her  place  for  a  time  as 
the  political  leader  of  the  civilized  world;  Spain, 
with  her  evil  schemes  baffled  in  every  quarter, 
sinking  into  that  terrible  death-like  lethargy, 
from  which  she  has  hardly  yet  awakened,  and 
which  must  needs  call  forth  our  pity,  though 
it  is  but  the  deserved  retribution  for  her  past 
279 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

behaviour.  While  the  little  realm  of  the  Neth- 
erlands, filched  and  cozened  from  the  unfor- 
tunate Jacqueline  by  the  "  good "  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  carried  over  to  Austria  as  the  mar- 
riage-portion of  Lady  Mary,  sent  down  to  Spain 
as  the  personal  inheritance  of  the  "  prudent  " 
Philip,  and  by  him  intolerably  tormented  with 
an  Inquisition,  a  Blood-Council,  and  a  Duke 
of  Alva,  has  after  a  forty  years'  war  of  inde- 
pendence taken  its  position  for  a  time  as  the 
greatest  of  commercial  nations,  with  the  most 
formidable  navy  and  one  of  the  best  disciplined 
armies  yet  seen  upon  the  earth. 

But  the  central  phenomenon  of  the  sixteenth 
century  is  the  culmination  of  the  Protestant 
movement  in  its  decisive  proclamation  by  Lu- 
ther. For  nearly  three  hundred  years  already 
the  power  of  the  Church  had  been  declining, 
and  its  function  as  a  civilizing  agency  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  obsolete.  The  first 
great  blow  at  its  supremacy  had  been  directed 
with  partial  success  in  the  thirteenth  century  by 
the  Emperor  Frederick  II.  Coincident  with 
this  attack  from  without,  we  find  a  reformation 
begun  within,  as  exemplified  in  the  Dominican 
and  Franciscan  movements.  The  second  great 
blow  was  aimed  by  Philip  IV.  of  France,  and 
this  time  it  struck  with  terrible  force.  The 
removal  of  the  Papacy  to  Avignon,  in  1305, 
was  the  virtual  though  unrecognized  abdication 
280 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

of  its  beneficent  supremacy.  Bereft  of  its  dig- 
nity and  independence,  from  that  time  forth  it 
ceased  to  be  the  defender  of  national  unity 
against  baronial  anarchy,  of  popular  rights 
against  monarchical  usurpation,  and  became  a 
formidable  instrument  of  despotism  and  oppres- 
sion. Through  the  vicissitudes  of  the  great 
schism  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  the  refrac- 
tory councils  in  the  fifteenth,  its  position  be- 
came rapidly  more  and  more  retrograde  and 
demoralized.  And  when,  in  1530,  it  joined  its 
forces  with  those  of  Charles  V.,  in  crushing  the 
liberties  of  the  worthiest  of  mediaeval  republics, 
it  became  evident  that  the  cause  of  freedom  and 
progress  must  henceforth  be  intrusted  to  some 
more  faithful  champion.  The  revolt  of  North- 
ern Europe,  led  by  Luther  and  Henry  VIII., 
was  but  the  articulate  announcement  of  this 
altered  state  of  affairs.  So  long  as  the  Roman 
Church  had  been  felt  to  be  the  enemy  of  tyran- 
nical monarchs  and  the  steadfast  friend  of  the 
people,  its  encroachments,  as  represented  by 
men  like  Dunstan  and  Becket,  were  regarded 
with  popular  favour.  The  strength  of  the 
Church  lay  ever  in  its  democratic  instincts ; 
and  when  these  were  found  to  have  abandoned 
it,  the  indignant  protest  of  Luther  sufficed  to 
tear  away  half  of  Europe  from  its  allegiance. 

By  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  we  find 
the  territorial  struggle  between  the  Church  and 
281 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  reformed  religion  substantially  decided. 
Protestantism  and  Catholicism  occupied  then 
the  same  respective  areas  which  they  now  oc- 
cupy. Since  1600  there  has  been  no  instance 
of  a  nation  passing  from  one  form  of  worship 
to  the  other  ;  and  in  all  probability  there  never 
will  be.  Since  the  wholesale  dissolution  of  re- 
ligious beliefs  wrought  in  the  last  century,  the 
whole  issue  between  Romanism  and  Protes- 
tantism, regarded  as  dogmatic  systems,  is  prac- 
tically dead.  M.  Renan  is  giving  expression 
to  an  almost  self-evident  truth,  when  he  says 
that  religious  development  is  no  longer  to  pro- 
ceed by  way  of  sectarian  proselytism,  but  by 
way  of  harmonious  internal  development.  The 
contest  is  no  longer  between  one  theology  and 
another,  but  it  is  between  the  theological  and 
the  scientific  methods  of  interpreting  natural 
phenomena.  The  sixteenth  century  has  to  us, 
therefore,  the  interest  belonging  to  a  rounded 
and  completed  tale.  It  contains  within  itself 
substantially  the  entire  history  of  the  final  stage 
of  the  theological  reformation. 

This  great  period  falls  naturally  into  two 
divisions,  the  first  corresponding  very  nearly 
with  the  reigns  of  Charles  V.  and  Henry  VIII., 
and  the  second  with  the  age  of  Philip  IL  and 
Elizabeth.  The  first  of  these  periods  was  filled 
with  the  skirmishes  which  were  to  open  the 
great  battle  of  the  Reformation.  At  first  the 
282 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 
strength  and  extent  of  the  new  revolution  were 

o 

not  altogether  apparent.  While  the  Inquisition 
was  vigorously  crushing  out  the  first  symptoms 
of  disaffection  in  Spain,  it  at  one  time  seemed 
as  if  the  Reformers  were  about  to  gain  the  whole 
of  the  Empire,  besides  acquiring  an  excellent 
foothold  in  France.  Again,  while  England 
was  wavering  between  the  old  and  the  new 
faith,  the  last  hopes  of  the  Reform  in  Germany 
seemed  likely  to  be  destroyed  by  the  military 
genius  of  Charles.  But  in  Maurice,  the  red- 
bearded  hero  of  Saxony,  Charles  found  more 
than  his  match.  The  picture  of  the  rapid  and 
desperate  march  of  Maurice  upon  Innspruck, 
and  of  the  great  Emperor  flying  for  his  life  at 
the  very  hour  of  his  imagined  triumph,  has  still 
for  us  an  intenser  interest  than  almost  any  other 
scene  of  that  age  ;  for  it  was  the  event  which 
proved  that  Protestantism  was  not  a  mere  local 
insurrection  which  a  monarch  like  Charles  could 
easily  put  down,  but  a  gigantic  revolution 
against  which  all  the  powers  in  the  world  might 
well  strive  in  vain. 

With  the  abdication  of  Charles  in  1556  the 
new  period  may  be  said  to  begin,  and  it  is  here 
that  Mr.  Motley's  history  commences.  Events 
crowded  thick  and  fast.  In  1556  Philip  II.,  a 
prince  bred  and  educated  for  the  distinct  pur- 
pose of  suppressing  heresy,  succeeded  to  the 
rule  of  the  most  powerful  empire  which  had 
283 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

been  seen  since  the  days  of  the  Antonines.  In 
the  previous  year  a  new  era  had  begun  at  the 
court  of  Rome.  The  old  race  of  pagan  pontiffs, 
the  Borgias,  the  Farneses,  and  the  Medicis,  had 
come  to  an  end,  and  the  papal  throne  was  oc- 
cupied by  the  puritanical  Caraffa,  as  violent  a 
fanatic  as  Robespierre,  and  a  foe  of  freedom  as 
uncompromising  as  Philip  II.  himself.  Under 
his  auspices  took  place  the  great  reform  in  the 
Church  signalized  by  the  rise  of  the  Jesuits,  as 
the  reform  in  the  thirteenth  century  had  been 
attended  by  the  rise  of  the  Cordeliers  and  Do- 
minicans. His  name  should  not  be  forgotten, 
for  it  is  mainly  owing  to  the  policy  inaugurated 
by  him  that  Catholicism  was  enabled  to  hold 
its  ground  as  well  as  it  did.  In  1557,  the  next 
year,  the  strength  of  France  was  broken  at  St. 
Quentin,  and  Spain  was  left  with  her  hands  free 
to  deal  with  the  Protestant  powers.  In  1558, 
by  the  accession  of  Elizabeth,  England  became 
committed  to  the  cause  of  Reform.  In  1559, 
the  stormy  administration  of  Margaret  began 
in  the  Netherlands.  In  1 560  the  Scotch  nobles 
achieved  the  destruction  of  Catholicism  in  North 
Britain.  By  this  time  every  nation,  except 
France,  had  taken  sides  in  the  conflict  which 
was  to  last,  with  hardly  any  cessation,  during 
two  generations. 

Mr.  Motley,  therefore,  in  describing  the  rise 
and   progress   of  the    united  republic  of  the 
284 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

Netherlands,  is  writing  not  Dutch,  but  Euro- 
pean history.  On  his  pages  France,  Spain,  and 
England  make  almost  as  large  a  figure  as  Hol- 
land itself.  He  is  writing  the  history  of  the 
Reformation  during  its  concluding  epoch,  and 
he  chooses  the  Netherlands  as  his  main  subject, 
because  during  that  period  the  Netherlands 
were  the  centre  of  the  movement.  They  con- 
stituted the  great  bulwark  of  freedom,  and  upon 
the  success  or  failure  of  their  cause  the  future 
prospect  of  Europe  and  of  mankind  depended. 
Spain  and  the  Netherlands,  Philip  II.  and  Wil- 
liam the  Silent,  were  the  two  leading  antago- 
nists, and  were  felt  to  be  such  by  the  other  na- 
tions and  rulers  that  came  to  mingle  in  the 
strife.  It  is  therefore  a  stupid  criticism  which 
we  have  seen  made  upon  Mr.  Motley,  that, 
having  brought  his  narrative  down  to  the  truce 
of  1609,  he  ought,  instead  of  describing  the 
Thirty  Years'  War,  to  keep  on  with  Dutch 
history,  and  portray  the  wars  against  Cromwell 
and  Charles  II.,  and  the  struggle  of  the  second 
William  of  Orange  against  Louis  XIV.  By 
so  doing  he  would  only  violate  the  unity  of  his 
narrative.  The  wars  of  the  Dutch  against 
England  and  France  belong  to  an  entirely  dif- 
ferent epoch  in  European  history,  —  a  modern 
epoch,  in  which  political  and  commercial  inter- 
ests were  of  prime  importance,  and  theologi- 
cal interests  distinctly  subsidiary.  The  natural 
285 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

terminus  of  Mr.  Motley's  work  is  the  Peace 
of  Westphalia.  After  bringing  down  his  his- 
tory to  the  time  when  the  independence  of  the 
Netherlands  was  virtually  acknowledged,  after 
describing  the  principal  stages  of  the  struggle 
against  Catholicism  and  universal  monarchy,  as 
carried  on  in  the  first  generation  by  Elizabeth 
and  William,  and  in  the  second  by  Maurice 
and  Henry,  he  will  naturally  go  on  to  treat  of 
the  epilogue  as  conducted  by  Richelieu  and 
Gustavus,  ending  in  the  final  cessation  of  reli- 
gious wars  throughout  Europe. 

The  conflict  in  the  Netherlands  was  indeed 
far  more  than  a  mere  religious  struggle.  In  its 
course  was  distinctly  brought  into  prominence 
the  fact  which  we  have  above  signalized,  that 
since  the  Roman  Church  had  abandoned  the 
liberties  of  the  people  they  had  found  a  new 
defender  in  the  reformed  religion.  The  Dutch 
rebellion  is  peculiarly  interesting,  because  it 
was  a  revolt  not  merely  against  the  Inquisition, 
but  also  against  the  temporal  sovereignty  of 
Philip.  Besides  changing  their  religion,  the 
sturdy  Netherlanders  saw  fit  to  throw  off  the 
sway  of  their  legitimate  ruler,  and  to  proclaim 
the  thrice  heretical  doctrine  of  the  sovereignty 
of  the  people.  In  this  one  respect  their  views 
were  decidedly  more  modern  than  those  of 
Elizabeth  and  Henry  IV.  These  great  mon- 
archs  apparently  neither  understood  nor  rel- 
286 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

ished  the  republican  theories  of  the  Holland- 
ers ;  though  it  is  hardly  necessary  for  Mr. 
Motley  to  sneer  at  them  quite  so  often  because 
they  were  not  to  an  impossible  degree  in  ad- 
vance of  their  age.  The  proclamation  of  a  re- 
public in  the  Netherlands  marked  of  itself  the 
beginning  of  a  new  era,  —  an  era  when  flourish- 
ing communities  of  men  were  no  longer  to  be 
bought  and  sold,  transferred  and  bequeathed 
like  real  estate  and  chattels,  but  were  to  have  and 
maintain  the  right  of  choosing  with  whom  and 
under  whom  they  should  transact  their  affairs. 
The  interminable  negotiations  for  a  truce,  which 
fill  nearly  one  third  of  Mr.  Motley's  conclud- 
ing volume,  exhibit  with  striking  distinctness 
the  difference  between  the  old  and  new  points 
of  view.  Here  again  we  think  Mr.  Motley  errs 
slightly,  in  calling  too  much  attention  to  the 
prevaricating  diplomacy  of  the  Spanish  court, 
and  too  little  to  its  manifest  inability  to  com- 
prehend the  demands  of  the  Netherlanders. 
How  should  statesmen  brought  up  under 
Philip  II.  and  kept  under  the  eye  of  the  In- 
quisition be  expected  to  understand  a  claim  for 
liberty  originating  in  the  rights  of  the  common 
people  and  not  in  the  gracious  benevolence  or 
intelligent  policy  of  the  King  ?  The  very  idea 
must  have  been  practically  inconceivable  by 
them.  Accordingly,  they  strove  by  every  avail- 
able device  of  chicanery  to  wheedle  the  Nether- 
287 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

landers  into  accepting  their  independence  as 
a  gift  from  the  King  of  Spain.  But  to  such 
a  piece  of  self-stultification  the  clear-sighted 
Dutchmen  could  by  no  persuasion  be  brought 
to  consent.  Their  independence,  they  argued, 
was  not  the  King's  to  give.  They  had  won  it 
from  him  and  his  father,  in  a  war  of  forty 
years,  during  which  they  had  suffered  atrocious 
miseries,  and  all  that  the  King  of  Spain  could 
do  was  to  acknowledge  it  as  their  right,  and 
cease  to  molest  them  in  future.  Over  this 
point,  so  simple  to  us  but  knotty  enough  in 
those  days,  the  commissioners  wrangled  for 
nearly  two  years.  And  when  the  Spanish  gov- 
ernment, unable  to  carry  on  the  war  any  longer 
without  risk  of  utter  bankruptcy,  and  daily 
crippled  in  its  resources  by  the  attacks  of  the 
Dutch  navy,  grudgingly  agreed  to  a  truce 
upon  the  Netherlanders'  terms,  it  virtually  ac- 
knowledged its  own  defeat  and  the  downfall 
of  the  principles  for  which  it  had  so  obsti- 
nately fought.  By  the  truce  of  1609  the  re- 
publican principle  was  admitted  by  the  most 
despotic  of  governments. 

Here  was  the  first  great  triumph  of  repub- 
licanism over  monarchy  ;  and  it  was  not  long  in 
bearing  fruits.  For  the  Dutch  revolution,  the 
settlement  of  America  by  English  Puritans, 
the  great  rebellion  of  the  Commons,  the  Revo- 
lution of  1688,  the  revolt  of  the  American 
288 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

Colonies,  and  the  general  overthrow  of  feu- 
dalism in  1789,  are  but  successive  acts  in  the 
same  drama.  William  the  Silent  was  the 
worthy  forerunner  of  Cromwell  and  Washing- 
ton ;  and  but  for  the  victory  which  he  won, 
during  his  life  and  after  his  untimely  death, 
the  subsequent  triumphs  of  civil  liberty  might 
have  been  long  postponed. 

Over  the  sublime  figure  of  William  —  s*evis 
tranquillus  in  undis  —  we  should  be  glad  to 
dwell,  but  we  are  not  reviewing  the  "  Rise 
of  the  Dutch  Republic,"  and  in  Mr.  Mot- 
ley's present  volumes  the  hero  of  toleration  ap- 
pears no  longer.  His  antagonist,  however, — 
the  Philip  whom  God  for  some  inscrutable 
purpose  permitted  to  afflict  Europe  during  a 
reign  of  forty-two  years,  —  accompanies  us 
nearly  to  the  end  of  the  present  work,  dying 
just  in  time  for  the  historian  to  sum  up  the 
case  against  him,  and  pronounce  final  judg- 
ment. For  the  memory  of  Philip  II.  Mr. 
Motley  cherishes  no  weak  pity.  He  rarely 
alludes  to  him  without  commenting  upon  his 
total  depravity,  and  he  dismisses  him  with  the 
remark  that  "if  there  are  vices  —  as  possibly 
there  are  —  from  which  he  was  exempt,  it  is 
because  it  is  not  permitted  to  human  nature 
to  attain  perfection  in  evil."  The  verdict  is 
none  the  less  just  because  of  its  conciseness. 
If  there  ever  was  a  strife  between  Hercules  and 
289 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Cacus,  between  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman,  between 
the  Power  of  Light  and  the  Power  of  Dark- 
ness, it  was  certainly  the  strife  between  the 
Prince  of  Orange  and  the  Spanish  Monarch. 
They  are  contrasted  like  the  light  and  shade 
in  one  of  Dore's  pictures.  And  yet  it  is  per- 
haps unnecessary  for  Mr.  Motley  to  say  that 
if  Philip  had  been  alive  when  Spinola  won 
for  him  the  great  victory  of  Ostend,  "  he 
would  have  felt  it  his  duty  to  make  immediate 
arrangements  for  poisoning  him."  Doubtless 
the  imputation  is  sufficiently  justified  by  what 
we  know  of  Philip  ;  but  it  is  uncalled  for.  We 
do  not  care  to  hear  about  what  the  despot 
might  have  done.  We  know  what  he  did  do, 
and  the  record  is  sufficiently  damning.  There 
is  no  harm  in  our  giving  the  Devil  his  due,  or 
as  Llorente  wittily  says, "  II  ne  faut  pas  calom- 
nier  meme  Tlnquisition." 

Philip  inherited  all  his  father's  bad  qualities, 
without  any  of  his  good  ones  ;  and  so  it  is 
much  easier  to  judge  him  than  his  father. 
Charles,  indeed,  is  one  of  those  characters 
whom  one  hardly  knows  whether  to  love  or 
hate,  to  admire  or  despise.  He  had  much  bad 
blood  in  him.  Charles  the  Bold  and  Ferdi- 
nand of  Aragon  were  not  grandparents  to  be 
proud  of.  Yet  with  all  this  he  inherited  from 
his  grandmother  Isabella  much  that  one  can 
like,  and  his  face,  as  preserved  by  Titian,  in 
290 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

spite  of  its  frowning  brow  and  thick  Burgun- 
dian  lip,  is  rather  prepossessing,  while  the  face 
of  Philip  is  simply  odious.  In  intellect  he  must 
probably  be  called  great,  though  his  policy 
often  betrayed  the  pettiness  of  selfishness.  If, 
in  comparison  with  the  mediaeval  emperor 
whose  fame  he  envied,  he  may  justly  be  called 
Charles  the  Little,  he  may  still,  when  com- 
pared to  a  more  modern  emulator  of  Charle- 
magne, —  the  first  of  the  Bonapartes,  —  be 
considered  great  and  enlightened.  If  he  could 
lie  and  cheat  more  consummately  than  any 
contemporary  monarch,  not  excepting  his  rival, 
Francis,  he  could  still  be  grandly  magnani- 
mous, while  the  generosity  of  Francis  flowed 
only  from  the  shallow  surface  of  a  maudlin 
good-nature.  He  spoke  many  languages  and 
had  the  tastes  of  a  scholar,  while  his  son  had 
only  the  inclinations  of  an  unfeeling  peda- 
gogue. He  had  an  inkling  of  urbanity,  and 
could  in  a  measure  become  all  things  to  all 
men,  while  Philip  could  never  show  himself 
except  as  a  gloomy,  impracticable  bigot.  It  is 
for  some  such  reasons  as  these,  I  suppose, 
that  Mr.  Buckle  —  no  friend  to  despots  — 
speaks  well  of  Charles,  and  that  Mr.  Froude 
is  moved  to  tell  the  following  anecdote :  While 
standing  by  the  grave  of  Luther,  and  musing 
over  the  strange  career  of  the  giant  monk 
whose  teachings  had  gone  so  far  to  wreck  his 
291 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

most  cherished  schemes  and  render  his  life  a 
failure,  some  fanatical  bystander  advised  the 
Emperor  to  have  the  body  taken  up  and 
burned  in  the  market-place.  "  There  was  no- 
thing," says  Mr.  Froude,  "unusual  in  the 
proposal ;  it  was  the  common  practice  of  the 
Catholic  Church  with  the  remains  of  heretics, 
who  were  held  unworthy  to  be  left  in  repose  in 
hallowed  ground.  There  was  scarcely,  perhaps, 
another  Catholic  prince  who  would  have  hesi- 
tated to  comply.  But  Charles  was  one  of 
nature's  gentlemen.  He  answered,  £  I  war  not 
with  the  dead.' '  Mr.  Motley  takes  a  less 
charitable  view  of  the  great  Emperor.  His 
generous  indignation  against  all  persecutors 
makes  him  severe ;  and  in  one  of  his  earlier 
volumes,  while  speaking  of  the  famous  edicts 
for  the  suppression  of  heresy  in  the  Nether- 
lands, he  somewhere  uses  the  word  "  mur- 
der." Without  attempting  to  palliate  the  crime 
of  persecution,  I  doubt  if  it  is  quite  fair  to 
Charles  to  call  him  a  murderer.  We  must  not 
forget  that  persecution,  now  rightly  deemed  an 
atrocious  crime,  was  once  really  considered  by 
some  people  a  sacred  duty  ;  that  it  was  none 
other  than  the  compassionate  Isabella  who 
established  the  Spanish  Inquisition ;  and  that 
the  "  bloody  "  Mary  Tudor  was  a  woman  who 
would  not  wilfully  have  done  wrong.  With 
the  progress  of  civilization  the  time  will  doubt' 
292 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

less  come  when  warfare,  having  ceased  to  be 
necessary,  will  be  thought  highly  criminal  ;  yet 
it  will  not  then  be  fair  to  hold  Marlborough 
and  Wellington  accountable  for  the  lives  lost  in 
their  great  battles.  We  still  live  in  an  age 
when  war  is,  to  the  imagination  of  some  per- 
sons, surrounded  with  false  glories  ;  and  the 
greatest  of  modern  generals 1  has  still  many 
undiscriminating  admirers.  Yet  the  day  is  no 
less  certainly  at  hand  when  the  edicts  of 
Charles  V.  will  be  deemed  a  more  pardonable 
offence  against  humanity  than  the  wanton 
march  to  Moscow. 

Philip  II.  was  different  from  his  father  in 
capacity  as  a  drudging  clerk,  like  Boutwell,  is 
different  from  a  brilliant  financier  like  Glad- 
stone. In  organization  he  differed  from  him 
as  a  boor  differs  from  a  gentleman.  He  seemed 
made  of  a  coarser  clay.  The  difference  between 
them  is  well  indicated  by  their  tastes  at  the 
table.  Both  were  terrible  gluttons,  a  fact  which 
puritanic  criticism  might  set  down  as  equally  to 
the  discredit  of  each  of  them.  But  even  in  in- 
temperance there  are  degrees  of  refinement,  and 
the  impartial  critic  of  life  and  manners  will  no 
doubt  say  that  if  one  must  get  drunk,  let  it  be 
on  Chateau  Margaux  rather  than  on  commis- 
sary whiskey.  Pickled  partridges,  plump  ca- 

1  This  was  written  before  the  deeds  of  Moltke  had 
eclipsed  those  of  Napoleon. 

293 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

pons,  syrups  of  fruits,  delicate  pastry,  and  rare 
fish  went  to  make  up  the  diet  of  Charles  in  his 
last  days  at  Yuste.  But  the  beastly  Philip  would 
make  himself  sick  with  a  surfeit  of  underdone 
pork. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  father,  we  can 
hardly  go  far  wrong  in  ascribing  the  instincts 
of  a  murderer  to  the  son.  He  not  only  burned 
heretics,  but  he  burned  them  with  an  air  of  en- 
joyment and  self-complacency.  His  nuptials 
with  Elizabeth  of  France  were  celebrated  by  a 
vast  auto-da-fe.  He  studied  murder  as  a  fine 
art,  and  was  as  skilful  in  private  assassinations 
as  Cellini  was  in  engraving  on  gems.  The  se- 
cret execution  of  Montigny,  never  brought  to 
light  until  the  present  century,  was  a  veritable 
chef  d'teuvre  of  this  sort.  The  cases  of  Esco- 
bedo  and  Antonio  Perez  may  also  be  cited  in 
point.  Dark  suspicions  hung  around  the  pre- 
mature death  of  Don  John  of  Austria,  his  too 
brilliant  and  popular  half-brother.  He  planned 
the  murder  of  William  the  Silent,  and  rewarded 
the  assassin  with  an  annuity  furnished  by  the 
revenues  of  the  victim's  confiscated  estates. 
He  kept  a  staff  of  ruffians  constantly  in  service 
for  the  purpose  of  taking  off  Elizabeth,  Henry 
IV.,  Prince  Maurice,  Olden-Barneveldt,  and 
St.  Aldegonde.  He  instructed  Alva  to  execute 
sentence  of  death  upon  the  whole  population 
of  the  Netherlands.  He  is  partly  responsible 
294 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

for  the  martyrdoms  of  Ridley  and  Latimer,  and 
the  judicial  murder  of  Cranmer.  He  first  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  the  wholesale  massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  many  years  before  Catharine  de' 
Medici  carried  it  into  operation.  His  ingrati- 
tude was  as  dangerous  as  his  revengeful  fanati- 
cism. Those  who  had  best  served  his  interests 
were  the  least  likely  to  escape  the  consequences 
of  his  jealousy.  He  destroyed  Egmont,  who 
had  won  for  him  the  splendid  victories  of  St. 
Quentin  and  Gravelines ;  and  "  with  minute 
and  artistic  treachery  "  he  plotted  "  the  disgrace 
and  ruin  "  of  Farnese,  "  the  man  who  was  his 
near  blood-relation,  and  who  had  served  him 
most  faithfully  from  earliest  youth."  Contem- 
porary opinion  even  held  him  accountable  for 
the  obscure  deaths  of  his  wife  Elizabeth  and  his 
son  Carlos ;  but  M.  Gachard  has  shown  that 
this  suspicion  is  unfounded.  Philip  appears 
perhaps  to  better  advantage  in  his  domestic 
than  in  his  political  relations.  Yet  he  was  ad- 
dicted to  vulgar  and  miscellaneous  incontinence ; 
towards  the  close  of  his  life  he  seriously  con- 
templated marrying  his  own  daughter  Isabella; 
and  he  ended  by  taking  for  his  fourth  wife  his 
niece,  Anne  of  Austria,  who  became  the  mother 
of  his  half-idiotic  son  and  successor.  We  know 
of  no  royal  family,  unless  it  may  be  the  Claudians 
of  Rome,  in  which  the  transmission  of  moral 
and  intellectual  qualities  is  more  thoroughly 
295 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

illustrated  than  in  this  Burgundian  race  which 
for  two  centuries  held  the  sceptre  of  Spain. 
The  son  Philip  and  the  grandmother  Isabella 
are  both  needful  in  order  to  comprehend  the 
strange  mixture  of  good  and  evil  in  Charles. 
But  the  descendants  of  Philip  —  two  genera- 
tions of  idiocy,  and  a  third  of  utter  impotence 
—  are  a  sufficient  commentary  upon  the  organ- 
ization and  character  of  their  progenitor. 

Such  was  the  man  who  for  two  generations 
had  been  considered  the  bulwark  of  the  Catho- 
lic Church;  who,  having  been  at  the  bottom 
of  nearly  all  the  villainy  that  had  been  wrought 
in  Europe  for  half  a  century,  was  yet  able  to 
declare  upon  his  death-bed  that  "  in  all  his  life 
he  had  never  consciously  done  wrong  to  any 
one."  At  a  ripe  old  age  he  died  of  a  fearful 
disease.  Under  the  influence  of  a  typhus  fever, 
supervening  upon  gout,  he  had  begun  to  de- 
compose while  yet  alive.  "  His  sufferings," 
says  Mr.  Motley, "  were  horrible,  but  no  saint 
could  have  manifested  in  them  more  gentle 
resignation  or  angelic  patience.  He  moralized 
on  the  condition  to  which  the  greatest  princes 
might  thus  be  brought  at  last  by  the  hand  of 
God,  and  bade  the  Prince  observe  well  his 
father's  present  condition,  in  order  that  when  he 
too  should  be  laid  thus  low,  he  might  likewise 
be  sustained  by  a  conscience  void  of  offence." 
What  more  is  needed  to  complete  the  disgust- 
296 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

ing  picture  ?  Philip  was  fanatical  up  to  the 
point  where  fanaticism  borders  upon  hypocrisy. 
He  was  possessed  with  a  "great  moral  idea," 
the  idea  of  making  Catholicism  the  ruler  of  the 
world,  that  he  might  be  the  ruler  of  Catholicism. 
Why,  it  may  be  said,  shall  the  charge  of  fanat- 
icism be  allowed  to  absolve  Isabella  and  exten- 
uate the  guilt  of  Charles,  while  it  only  strength- 
ens the  case  against  Philip  ?  Because  Isabella 
persecuted  heretics  in  order  to  save  their  souls 
from  a  worse  fate,  while  Philip  burnt  them  in 
order  to  get  them  out  of  his  way.  Isabella 
would  perhaps  have  gone  to  the  stake  herself, 
if  thereby  she  might  have  put  an  end  to  heresy. 
Philip  would  have  seen  every  soul  in  Europe 
consigned  to  eternal  perdition  before  he  would 
have  yielded  up  an  iota  of  his  claims  to  univer- 
sal dominion.  He  could  send  Alva  to  brow- 
beat the  Pope,  as  well  as  to  oppress  the  Nether- 
landers.  He  could  compass  the  destruction  of 
the  orthodox  Egmont  and  Farnese,  as  well  as 
of  the  heretical  William.  His  unctuous  piety 
only  adds  to  the  abhorrence  with  which  we  re- 
gard him ;  and  his  humility  in  face  of  death  is 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  assumed  hu- 
mility which  had  become  second  nature  to  Uriah 
Heep.  In  short,  take  him  for  all  in  all,  he  was 
probably  the  most  loathsome  character  in  all 
European  history.  He  has  frequently  been 
called,  by  Protestant  historians,  an  incarnate 
297 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

devil ;  but  we  do  not  think  that  Mephistopheles 
would  acknowledge  him.  He  should  rather  be 
classed  among  those  creatures  described  by 
Dante  as  "  a  Dio  spiacenti  ed  ai  nemici  sui." 

The  abdication  of  Charles  V.  left  Philip  ruler 
over  wider  dominions  than  had  ever  before  been 
brought  together  under  the  sway  of  one  man. 
In  his  own  right  Philip  was  master  not  only  of 
Spain,  but  of  the  Netherlands,  Franche  Comte, 
Lombardy,  Naples,  and  Sicily,  with  the  whole 
of  North  and  South  America;  besides  which 
he  was  married  to  the  Queen  of  England.  In 
the  course  of  his  reign  he  became  possessed  of 
Portugal,  with  all  its  vast  domains  in  the  East 
Indies.  His  revenues  were  greater  than  those 
of  any  other  contemporary  monarch  ;  his  navy 
was  considered  invincible,  and  his  army  was 
the  best  disciplined  in  Europe.  All  these  great 
advantages  he  was  destined  to  throw  to  the 
winds.  In  the  strife  for  universal  monarchy,  in 
the  mad  endeavour  to  subject  England,  Scot- 
land, and  France  to  his  own  dominion  and  the 
tyranny  of  the  Inquisition,  besides  reconquer- 
ing the  Netherlands,  all  his  vast  resources  were 
wasted.  The  Dutch  war  alone,  like  a  bottom- 
less pit,  absorbed  all  that  he  could  pour  into 
it.  Long  before  the  war  was  over,  or  showed 
signs  of  drawing  to  an  end,  his  revenues  were 
wasted,  and  his  troops  in  Flanders  were  muti- 
nous for  want  of  pay.  He  had  to  rely  upon 
298 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

energetic  viceroys  like  Farnese  and  the  Spi- 
nolas  to  furnish  funds  out  of  their  own  pockets. 
Finally,  he  was  obliged  to  repudiate  all  his 
debts ;  and  when  he  died  the  Spanish  empire 
was  in  such  a  beggarly  condition  that  it  quaked 
at  every  approach  of  a  hostile  Dutch  fleet. 
Such  a  result  is  not  evidence  of  a  statesmanlike 
ability;  but  Philip's  fanatical  selfishness  was 
incompatible  with  statesmanship.  He  never 
could  be  made  to  believe  that  his  projects  had 
suffered  defeat.  No  sooner  had  the  Invincible 
Armada  been  sent  to  the  bottom  by  the  guns 
of  the  English  fleet  and  the  gales  of  the  Ger- 
man Ocean,  than  he  sent  orders  to  Farnese  to 
invade  England  at  once  with  the  land  force 
under  his  command !  He  thought  to  obtain 
Scotland,  when,  after  the  death  of  Mary,  it  had 
passed  under  the  undisputed  control  of  the 
Protestant  noblemen.  He  dreamed  of  securing 
for  his  family  the  crown  of  France,  even  after 
Henry,  with  free  consent  of  the  Pope,  had 
made  his  triumphal  entry  into  Paris.  He  as- 
serted complete  and  entire  sovereignty  over 
the  Netherlands,  even  after  Prince  Maurice 
had  won  back  from  him  the  last  square  foot 
of  Dutch  territory.  Such  obstinacy  as  this  can 
only  be  called  fatuity.  If  Philip  had  lived  in 
pagan  times,  he  would  doubtless,  like  Caligula, 
have  demanded  recognition  of  his  own  divinity. 
The  miserable  condition  of  the  Spanish  peo- 
299 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

pie  under  this  terrible  reign,  and  the  causes 
of  their  subsequent  degeneracy,  have  been  well 
treated  by  Mr.  Motley.  The  causes  of  the  fail- 
ure of  Spanish  civilization  are  partly  social  and 
partly  economical ;  and  they  had  been  operat- 
ing for  eight  hundred  years  when  Philip  suc- 
ceeded to  the  throne.  The  Moorish  conquest 
in  711  had  practically  isolated  Spain  from  the 
rest  of  Europe.  In  the  Crusades  she  took  no 
part,  and  reaped  none  of  the  signal  advantages 
resulting  from  that  great  movement.  Her  whole 
energies  were  directed  towards  throwing  off  the 
yoke  of  her  civilized  but  "  unbelieving  "  oppres- 
sors. For  a  longer  time  than  has  now  elapsed 
since  the  Norman  Conquest  of  England,  the 
entire  Gothic  population  of  Spain  was  engaged 
in  unceasing  religious  and  patriotic  warfare.  The 
unlimited  power  thus  acquired  by  an  unscrupu- 
lous clergy,  and  the  spirit  of  uncompromising 
bigotry  thus  imparted  to  the  whole  nation,  are 
in  this  way  readily  accounted  for.  But  in  spite 
of  this,  the  affairs  of  Spain  at  the  accession  of 
Charles  V.  were  not  in  an  unpromising  condi- 
tion. The  Spanish  Visigoths  had  been  the  least 
barbarous  of  the  Teutonic  settlers  within  the 
limits  of  the  empire ;  their  civil  institutions 
were  excellent ;  their  cities  had  obtained  muni- 
cipal liberties  at  an  earlier  date  than  those  of 
England  ;  and  their  Parliaments  indulged  in  a 
liberty  of  speech  which  would  have  seemed  ex- 
300 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

travagant  even  to  De  Montfort.  So  late  as  the 
time  of  Ferdinand,  the  Spaniards  were  still  justly 
proud  of  their  freedom  ;  and  the  chivalrous  am- 
bition which  inspired  the  marvellous  expedition 
of  Cortes  to  Mexico,  and  covered  the  soil  of 
Italy  with  Spanish  armies,  was  probably  in  the 
main  a  healthy  one.  But  the  forces  of  Spanish 
freedom  were  united  at  too  late  an  epoch ;  in 
1492,  the  power  of  despotism  was  already  in 
the  ascendant.  In  England  the  case  was  dif- 
ferent. The  barons  were  enabled  to  combine 
and  wrest  permanent  privileges  from  the  crown, 
at  a  time  when  feudalism  was  strong.  But  the 
Spanish  communes  waited  for  combined  action 
until  feudalism  had  become  weak,  and  modern 
despotism,  with  its  standing  armies  and  its  con- 
trol of  the  spiritual  power,  was  arrayed  in  the 
ranks  against  them.  The  War  of  the  Communes, 
early  in  the  reign  of  Charles  V.,  irrevocably  de- 
cided the  case  in  favour  of  despotism,  and  from 
that  date  the  internal  decline  of  Spain  may  be 
said  to  have  begun. 

But  the  triumphant  consolidation  of  the  spirit- 
ual and  temporal  powers  of  despotism,  and  the 
abnormal  development  of  loyalty  and  bigotry, 
were  not  the  only  evil  results  of  the  chronic 
struggle  in  which  Spain  had  been  engaged.  For 
many  centuries,  while  Christian  Spain  had  been 
but  a  fringe  of  debatable  border-land  on  the 
skirts  of  the  Moorish  kingdom,  perpetual  guer- 
301 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

rilla  warfare  had  rendered  consecutive  labour 
difficult  or  impracticable;  and  the  physical  con- 
figuration of  the  country  contributed  in  bringing 
about  this  result.  To  plunder  the  Moors  across 
the  border  was  easier  than  to  till  the  ground  at 
home.  Then  as  the  Spaniards,  exemplifying 
the  military  superiority  of  the  feudal  over  the 
sultanic  form  of  social  organization,  proceeded 
steadily  to  recover  dominion  over  the  land,  the 
industrious  Moors,  instead  of  migrating  back- 
ward before  the  advance  of  their  conquerors, 
remained  at  home  and  submitted  to  them. 
Thus  Spanish  society  became  compounded  of 
two  distinct  castes,  —  the  Moorish  Spaniards, 
who  were  skilled  labourers,  and  the  Gothic 
Spaniards,  by  whom  all  labour,  crude  or  skil- 
ful, was  deemed  the  stigma  of  a  conquered  race, 
and  unworthy  the  attention  of  respectable  peo- 
ple. As  Mr.  Motley  concisely  says  :  — 

"  The  highest  industrial  and  scientific  civili- 
zation that  had  been  exhibited  upon  Spanish 
territory  was  that  of  Moors  and  Jews.  When 
in  the  course  of  time  those  races  had  been  sub- 
jugated, massacred,  or  driven  into  exile,  not  only 
was  Spain  deprived  of  its  highest  intellectual 
culture  and  its  most  productive  labour,  but  in- 
telligence, science,  and  industry  were  accounted 
degrading,  because  the  mark  of  inferior  and  de- 
tested peoples." 

This  is  the  key  to  the  whole  subsequent  his- 
302 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

tory  of  Spain.  Bigotry,  loyalty,  and  consecrated 
idleness  are  the  three  factors  which  have  made 
that  great  country  what  it  is  to-day,  —  the  most 
backward  region  in  Europe.  In  view  of  the  cir- 
cumstances just  narrated,  it  is  not  surprising  to 
learn  that  in  Philip  II.'s  time  avast  portion  of 
the  real  estate  of  the  country  was  held  by  the 
Church  in  mortmain  ;  that  forty-nine  noble  fami- 
lies owned  all  the  rest ;  that  all  great  estates  were 
held  in  tail ;  and  that  the  property  of  the  aris- 
tocracy and  the  clergy  was  completely  exempt 
from  taxation.  Thus  the  accumulation  and  the 
diffusion  of  capital  were  alike  prevented ;  and 
the  few  possessors  of  property  wasted  it  in  un- 
productive expenditure.  Hence  the  fundamen- 
tal error  of  Spanish  political  economy,  that  wealth 
is  represented  solely  by  the  precious  metals  ;  an 
error  which  well  enough  explains  the  total  fail- 
ure, in  spite  of  her  magnificent  opportunities,  of 
Spain's  attempts  to  colonize 'the  New  World. 
Such  was  the  frightful  condition  of  Spanish  so- 
ciety under  Philip  II.  ;  and  as  if  this  state  of 
things  were  not  bad  enough,  the  next  king, 
Philip  III.,  at  the  instigation  of  the  clergy,  de- 
cided to  drive  into  banishment  the  only  class  of 
productive  labourers  yet  remaining  in  the  coun- 
try. In  1 6 1 o,  this  stupendous  crime  and  blunder 
—  unparalleled  even  in  Spanish  history  —  was 
perpetrated.  The  entire  Moorish  population 
were  expelled  from  their  homes  and  driven  into 
303 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  deserts  of  Africa.  For  the  awful  conse- 
quences of  this  mad  action  no  remedy  was  pos- 
sible. No  system  of  native  industry  could  be 
created  on  demand,  to  take  the  place  of  that 
which  had  been  thus  wantonly  crushed  forever. 
From  this  epoch  dates  the  social  ruin  of  Spain. 
In  less  than  a  century  her  people  were  riotous 
with  famine  ;  and  every  sequestered  glen  and 
mountain  pathway  throughout  the  country  had 
become  a  lurking-place  for  robbers.  Whoever 
would  duly  realize  to  what  a  lamentable  condi- 
tion this  beautiful  peninsula  had  in  the  seven- 
teenth century  been  reduced,  let  him  study  the 
immortal  pages  of  Lesage.  He  will  learn  afresh 
the  lesson,  not  yet  sufficiently  regarded  in  the 
discussion  of  social  problems,  that  the  laws  of 
nature  cannot  be  violated  without  entailing  a 
penalty  fearful  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of 
the  violation.  But  let  him  carefully  remember 
also  that  the  Spaniards  are  not  and  never  have 
been  a  despicable  people.  If  Spain  has  produced 
one  of  the  lowest  characters  in  history,  she  has 
also  produced  one  of  the  highest.  That  man 
was  every  inch  a  Spaniard  who,  maimed,  dis- 
eased, and  poor,  broken  down  by  long  captivity, 
and  harassed  by  malignant  persecution,  lived 
nevertheless  a  life  of  grandeur  and  beauty  fit  to 
be  a  pattern  for  coming  generations,  —  the  au- 
thor of  a  book  which  has  had  a  wider  fame  than 
any  other  in  the  whole  range  of  secular  litera- 
304 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

ture,  and  which  for  delicate  humour,  exquisite 
pathos,  and  deep  ethical  sentiment,  remains  to- 
day without  a  peer  or  a  rival.  If  Philip  II.  was 
a  Spaniard,  so,  too,  was  Cervantes. 

Spain  could  not  be  free,  for  she  violated  every 
condition  by  which  freedom  is  secured  to  a  peo- 
ple. "  Acuteness  of  intellect,  wealth  of  imagina- 
tion, heroic  qualities  of  heart  and  hand  and  brain, 
rarely  surpassed  in  any  race  and  manifested  on 
a  thousand  battle-fields,  and  in  the  triumphs  of 
a  magnificent  and  most  original  literature,  had 
not  been  able  to  save  a  whole  nation  from  the 
disasters  and  the  degradation  which  the  mere 
words  Philip  II.  and  the  Holy  Inquisition  sug- 
gest to  every  educated  mind."  Nor  could  Spain 
possibly  become  rich,  for,  as  Mr.  Motley  con- 
tinues, "  nearly  every  law,  according  to  which 
the  prosperity  of  a  country  becomes  progressive, 
was  habitually  violated."  On  turning  to  the 
Netherlands  we  find  the  most  complete  contrast, 
both  in  historical  conditions  and  in  social  results ; 
and  the  success  of  the  Netherlands  in  their  long 
struggle  becomes  easily  intelligible.  The  Dutch 
and  Flemish  provinces  had  formed  a  part  of  the 
renovated  Roman  Empire  of  Charles  the  Great 
and  the  Othos.  Taking  advantage  of  the  peren- 
nial contest  for  supremacy  between  the  popes 
and  the  Roman  emperors,  the  constituent  baro- 
nies and  municipalities  of  the  Empire  succeeded 
in  acquiring  and  maintaining  a  practical  though 

305 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

unrecognized  independence ;  and  this  is  the 
original  reason  why  Italy  and  Germany,  unlike 
the  three  western  European  communities,  have 
remained  fragmentary  until  our  own  time.  By 
reason  of  the  practical  freedom  of  action  thus 
secured,  the  Italian  civic  republics,  the  Hanse 
towns,  and  the  cities  of  Holland  and  Flanders, 
were  enabled  gradually  to  develop  a  vast  com- 
merce. The  outlying  position  of  the  Nether- 
lands, remote  from  the  imperial  authorities,  and 
on  the  direct  line  of  commerce  between  Italy 
and  England,  was  another  and  a  peculiar  advan- 
tage. Throughout  the  Middle  Ages  the  Flemish 
and  Dutch  cities  were  of  considerable  political 
importance,  and  in  the  fifteenth  century  the 
Netherland  provinces  were  the  most  highly  civi- 
lized portion  of  Europe  north  of  the  Alps. 
For  several  generations  they  had  enjoyed,  and 
had  known  how  to  maintain,  civic  liberties,  and 
when  Charles  and  Philip  attempted  to  fasten 
upon  them  their  "  peculiar  institution,"  the 
Spanish  Inquisition,  they  were  ripe  for  political 
as  well  as  theological  revolt.  Natural  laws  were 
found  to  operate  on  the  Rhine  as  well  as  on  the 
Tagus,  and  at  the  end  of  the  great  war  of  inde- 
pendence, Holland  was  not  only  better  equipped 
than  Spain  for  a  European  conflict,  but  was  rap- 
idly ousting  her  from  the  East  Indian  countries 
which  she  had  in  vain  attempted  to  colonize. 
But  if  we  were  to  take  up  all  the  interesting 
306 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

and  instructive  themes  suggested  by  Mr.  Mot- 
ley's work,  we  should  never  come  to  an  end. 
We  must  pass  over  the  exciting  events  narrated 
in  these  last  volumes  ;  the  victory  of  Nieuport, 
the  siege  of  Ostend,  the  marvellous  career  of 
Maurice,  the  surprising  exploits  of  Spinola. 
We  have  attempted  not  so  much  to  describe 
Mr.  Motley's  book  as  to  indulge  in  sundry  re- 
flections suggested  by  the  perusal  of  it.  But  we 
cannot  close  without  some  remarks  upon  a  great 
man,  whose  character  Mr.  Motley  seems  to  have 
somewhat  misconceived. 

If  Mr.  Motley  exhibits  any  serious  fault,  it 
is  perhaps  the  natural  tendency  to  take  sides  in 
the  events  which  he  is  describing,  which  some- 
times operates  as  a  drawback  to  complete  and 
thoroughgoing  criticism.  With  every  intention 
to  do  justice  to  the  Catholics,  Mr.  Motley  still 
writes  as  a  Protestant,  viewing  all  questions  from 
the  Protestant  side.  He  praises  and  condemns 
like  a  very  fair-minded  Huguenot,  but  still  like  a 
Huguenot.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  he  fails  to 
interpret  correctly  the  very  complex  character 
of  Henry  IV.,  regarding  him  as  a  sort  of  selfish 
renegade  whom  he  cannot  quite  forgive  for  ac- 
cepting the  crown  of  France  at  the  hands  of  the 
Pope.  Now  this  very  action  of  Henry,  in  the 
eye  of  an  impartial  criticism,  must  seem  to  be 
one  of  his  chief  claims  to  the  admiration  and 
gratitude  of  posterity.  Henry  was  more  than  a 

307 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

mere  Huguenot :  he  was  a  far-seeing  statesman. 
He  saw  clearly  what  no  ruler  before  him,  save 
William  the  Silent,  had  even  dimly  discerned, 
that  not  Catholicism  and  not  Protestantism,  but 
absolute  spiritual  freedom  was  the  true  end  to 
be  aimed  at  by  a  righteous  leader  of  opinion. 
It  was  as  a  Catholic  sovereign  that  he  could 
be  most  useful  even  to  his  Huguenot  subjects ; 
and  he  shaped  his  course  accordingly.  It  was  as 
an  orthodox  sovereign,  holding  his  position  by 
the  general  consent  of  Europe,  that  he  could 
best  subserve  the  interests  of  universal  tolera- 
tion. This  principle  he  embodied  in  his  admira- 
ble edict  of  Nantes.  What  a  Huguenot  prince 
might  have  done,  may  be  seen  from  the  shame- 
ful way  in  which  the  French  Calvinists  abused 
the  favour  which  Henry  —  and  Richelieu  after- 
wards—  accorded  to  them.  Remembering  how 
Calvin  himself  "  dragooned  "  Geneva,  let  us  be 
thankful  for  the  fortune  which,  in  one  of  the 
most  critical  periods  of  history,  raised  to  the 
highest  position  in  Christendom  a  man  who  was 
something  more  than  a  sectarian. 

With  this  brief  criticism,  we  must  regretfully 
take  leave  of  Mr.  Motley's  work.  Much  more 
remains  to  be  said  about  a  historical  treatise 
which  is,  on  the  whole,  the  most  valuable  and 
important  one  yet  produced  by  an  American ; 
but  we  have  already  exceeded  our  limits.  We 
trust  that  our  author  will  be  as  successful  in  the 
308 


SPAIN  AND  THE  NETHERLANDS 

future  as  he  has  been  in  the  past ;  and  that  we 
shall  soon  have  an  opportunity  of  welcoming 
the  first  instalment  of  his  "  History  of  the 
Thirty  Years'  War." 

March,  1868. 


309 


XI 
LONGFELLOW'S   DANTE1 

THE  task  of  a  translator  is  a  thankless 
one  at  best.  Be  he  never  so  skilful 
and  accurate,  be  he  never  so  amply 
endowed  with  the  divine  qualifications  of  the 
poet,  it  is  still  questionable  if  he  can  ever  suc- 
ceed in  saying  satisfactorily  with  new  words  that 
which  has  once  been  inimitably  said  —  said  for 
all  time  —  with  the  old  words.  Psychologically, 
there  is  perhaps  nothing  more  complex  than  an 
elaborate  poem.  The  sources  of  its  effect  upon 
our  minds  may  be  likened  to  a  system  of  forces 
which  is  in  the  highest  degree  unstable ;  and 
the  slightest  displacement  of  phrases,  by  dis- 
turbing the  delicate  rhythmical  equilibrium  of 
the  whole,  must  inevitably  awaken  a  jarring  sen- 
sation.2 Matthew  Arnold  has  given  us  an  ex- 

1  The  Divine  Comedy  of  Dante  Alighieri.     Translated  by 
Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.      3  vols.      Boston  :  Ticknor 
&  Fields,  1867. 

2  As  Dante  himself  observes,  "  E  pero  sappia  ciascuno,  che 
nulla  cosa  per  legame  musaico  armonizzata  si  puo  della  sua  lo- 
quela  in  altra  trasmutare  sanza  rompere  tutta  sua  dolcezza  e 
armonia.    E  questa  e  la  ragione  per  che  Omero  non  si  muto 
di  greco  in  latino,  come  1'  altre  scritture  che  avemo  da  loro  :  e 

310 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

cellent  series  of  lectures  upon  translating  Ho- 
mer, in  which  he  doubtless  succeeds  in  showing 
that  some  methods  of  translation  are  preferable 
to  others,  but  in  which  he  proves  nothing  so 
forcibly  as  that  the  simplicity  and  grace,  the  ra- 
pidity, dignity,  and  fire,  of  Homer  are  quite  in- 
communicable, save  by  the  very  words  in  which 
they  first  found  expression.  And  what  is  thus 
said  of  Homer  will  apply  to  Dante  with  per- 
haps even  greater  force.  With  nearly  all  of  Ho- 
mer's grandeur  and  rapidity,  though  not  with 
nearly  all  his  simplicity,  the  poem  of  Dante 
manifests  a  peculiar  intensity  of  subjective  feel- 
ing which  was  foreign  to  the  age  of  Homer,  as 
indeed  to  all  pre-Christian  antiquity.  But  con- 
cerning this  we  need  not  dilate,  as  it  has  often 
been  duly  remarked  upon,  and  notably  by  Car- 
lyle  in  his  "  Lectures  on  Hero- Worship."  Who 
that  has  once  heard  the  wail  of  unutterable  de- 
spair sounding  in  the  line  — 

"  Ahi,  dura  terra,  perche  non  t'  apristi  ?  " 
can  rest  satisfied  with  the  interpretation  — 

"  Ah,  obdurate  earth,  wherefore  didst  thou  not  open  ?  " 
Yet  this  rendering  is  literally  exact. 

questa  e  la  ragione  per  che  i  versi  del  Psaltero  sono  sanza  dol- 
cezza  di  musica  e  d'  armonia  ;  che  essi  furono  trasmutati  d'  eb- 
reo  in  greco,  e  di  greco  in  latino,  e  nella  prima  trasmutazione 
tutta  quella  dolcezza  venne  meno."  Coftvito,  I.  7,  Opere 
Minori,  Tom.  III.,  p.  80.  The  noble  English  version  of  the 
Psalms  possesses  a  beauty  which  is  all  its  own. 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

A  second  obstacle,  hardly  less  formidable, 
hardly  less  fatal  to  a  satisfactory  translation,  is 
presented  by  the  highly  complicated  system  of 
triple  rhyme  upon  which  Dante's  poem  is  con- 
structed. This,  which  must  ever  be  a  stumbling- 
block  to  the  translator,  seems  rarely  to  interfere 
with  the  free  and  graceful  movement  of  the 
original  work.  The  mighty  thought  of  the  mas- 
ter felt  no  impediment  from  the  elaborate  ar- 
tistic panoply  which  must  needs  obstruct  and 
harass  the  interpretation  of  the  disciple.  Dante's 
terza  rima  is  a  bow  of  Odysseus  which  weaker 
mortals  cannot  bend  with  any  amount  of  tug- 
ging, and  which  Mr.  Longfellow  has  judi- 
ciously refrained  from  trying  to  bend.  Yet  no 
one  can  fail  to  remark  the  prodigious  loss  en- 
tailed by  this  necessary  sacrifice  of  one  of  the 
most  striking  characteristics  of  the  original  poem. 
Let  any  one  who  has  duly  reflected  upon  the 
strange  and  subtle  effect  produced  on  him  by 
the  peculiar  rhyme  of  Tennyson's  "In  Memo- 
riam,"  endeavour  to  realize  the  very  different  ef- 
fect which  would  be  produced  if  the  verses  were 
to  be  alternated  or  coupled  in  successive  pairs,  or 
if  rhyme  were  to  be  abandoned  for  blank  verse. 
The  exquisite  melody  of  the  poem  would  be 
silenced.  The  rhyme-system  of  the  "  Divine 
Comedy  "  refuses  equally  to  be  tampered  with 
or  ignored.  Its  effect  upon  the  ear  and  the 
mind  is  quite  as  remarkable  as  that  of  the  rhyme- 
312 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

system  of  "In  M  emoriam  ;  "  and  the  impossi- 
bility of  reproducing  it  is  one  good  reason  why 
Dante  must  always  suffer  even  more  from  trans- 
lation than  most  poets. 

Something,  too,  must  be  said  of  the  difficul- 
ties inevitably  arising  from  the  diverse  structure 
and  genius  of  the  Italian  and  English  languages. 
None  will  deny  that  many  of  them  are  insur- 
mountable. Take  the  third  line  of  the  first 
canto, — 

'*  Che  la  diritta  via  era  smarrita," 
which  Mr.  Longfellow  translates  — 

"  For  the  straightforward  pathway  had  been  lost." 

Perhaps  there  is  no  better  word  than  "  lost " 
by  which  to  translate  smarrita  in  this  place ; 
yet  the  two  words  are  far  from  equivalent  in 
force.  About  the  word  smarrita  there  is  thrown 
a  wide  penumbra  of  meaning  which  does  not 
belong  to  the  word  lost.1  By  its  diffuse  conno- 
tations the  word  smarrita  calls  up  in  our  minds 
an  adequate  picture  of  the  bewilderment  and 
perplexity  of  one  who  is  lost  in  a  trackless 
forest.  The  high-road  without,  beaten  hard  by 
incessant  overpassing  of  men  and  beasts  and 
wheeled  vehicles,  gradually  becomes  metamor- 
phosed into  the  shady  lane,  where  grass  sprouts 
up  rankly  between  the  ruts,  where  bushes  en- 
croach upon  the  roadside,  where  fallen  trunks 
1  See  Diez,  Romance  Dictionary,  s.  v.  "  Marrir. " 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

now  and  then  intercept  the  traveller ;  and  this 
in  turn  is  lost  in  crooked  by-ways,  amid  bram- 
bles and  underbrush  and  tangled  vines,  growing 
fantastically  athwart  the  path,  shooting  up  on 
all  sides  of  the  bewildered  wanderer,  and  ren- 
dering advance  and  retreat  alike  hopeless.  No 
one  who  in  childhood  has  wandered  alone  in 
the  woods  can  help  feeling  all  this  suggested  by 
the  word  smarrita  in  this  passage.  How  bald 
in  comparison  is  the  word  lost,  which  might 
equally  be  applied  to  a  pathway,  a  reputation, 
and  a  pocket-book  !  *  The  English  is  no  doubt 
the  most  copious  and  variously  expressive  of 
all  living  languages,  yet  I  doubt  if  it  can  fur- 
nish any  word  capable  by  itself  of  calling  up 
the  complex  images  here  suggested  by  smarrita? 
And  this  is  but  one  example,  out  of  many  that 
might  be  cited,  in  which  the  lack  of  exact  par- 
allelism between  the  two  languages  employed 
causes  every  translation  to  suffer. 

All  these,  however,  are  difficulties  which  lie 
in  the  nature  of  things,  —  difficulties  for  which 
the  translator  is  not  responsible;  of  which  he 
must  try  to  make  the  best  that  can  be  made, 

1  On  literally  retranslating  lost  into  Italian,  we  should  get 
the  quite  different  word  perduta. 

2  The  more  flexible  method  of  Dr.  Parsons  leads  to  a  more 
satisfactory  but  still  inadequate  result:  — 

"  Half-way  on  our  life's  journey,  in  a  wood, 
From  the  right  path  I  found  myself  astray. " 

3*4 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

but  which  he  can  never  expect  wholly  to  sur- 
mount. We  have  now  to  inquire  whether  there 
are  not  other  difficulties,  avoidable  by  one 
method  of  translation,  though  not  by  another; 
and  in  criticising  Mr.  Longfellow,  we  have 
chiefly  to  ask  whether  he  has  chosen  the  best 
method  of  translation, —  that  which  most  surely 
and  readily  awakens  in  the  reader's  mind  the 
ideas  and  feelings  awakened  by  the  original. 

The  translator  of  a  poem  may  proceed  upon 
either  of  two  distinct  principles.  In  the  first 
case,  he  may  render  the  text  of  his  original  into 
English,  line  for  line  and  word  for  word,  pre- 
serving as  far  as  possible  its  exact  verbal  se- 
quences, and  translating  each  individual  word 
into  an  English  word  as  nearly  as  possible 
equivalent  in  its  etymological  force.  In  the 
second  case,  disregarding  mere  syntactic  and 
etymologic  equivalence,  his  aim  will  be  to  re- 
produce the  inner  meaning  and  power  of  the 
original,  so  far  as  the  constitutional  difference 
of  the  two  languages  will  permit  him. 

It  is  the  first  of  these  methods  that  Mr. 
Longfellow  has  followed  in  his  translation  of 
Dante.  Fidelity  to  the  text  of  the  original  has 
been  his  guiding  principle  ;  and  every  one  must 
admit  that,  in  carrying  out  that  principle,  he 
has  achieved  a  degree  of  success  alike  delightful 
and  surprising.  The  method  of  literal  transla- 
tion is  not  likely  to  receive  any  more  splendid 

315 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

illustration.  It  is  indeed  put  to  the  test  in  such 
a  way  that  the  shortcomings  now  to  be  noticed 
bear  not  upon  Mr.  Longfellow's  own  style  of 
work  so  much  as  upon  the  method  itself  with 
which  they  are  necessarily  implicated.  These 
defects  are,  first,  the  too  frequent  use  of  syn- 
tactic inversion,  and  secondly,  the  too  manifest 
preference  extended  to  words  of  Romanic  over 
words  of  Saxon  origin. 

To  illustrate  the  first  point,  let  me  give  a  few 
examples.    In  Canto  I.  we  have  :  — 

*'  So  bitter  is  it,  death  is  little  more  ; 
But  of  the  good  to  treat  which  there  I  found, 
Speak  will  I  of  the  other  things  I  saw  there  ; " 

which  is  thus  rendered  by  Mr.  Gary, — 

'« Which  to  remember  only,  my  dismay 
Renews,  in  bitterness  not  far  from  death. 
Yet  to  discourse  of  what  there  good  befell, 
All  else  will  I  relate  discovered  there  ;  " 

and  by  Dr.  Parsons, — 

*'  Its  very  thought  is  almost  death  to  me  ; 
Yet,  having  found  some  good  there,  I  will  tell 
Of  other  things  which  there  I  chanced  to  see."  1 

Again  in  Canto  X.  we  find  :  — 

«'  Their  cemetery  have  upon  this  side 
With  Epicurus  all  his  followers, 
Who  with  the  body  mortal  make  the  soul  ;  "  — 

1  "  Tanto  e  amara,  che  poco  e  piu  morte  : 
Ma  per  trattar  del  ben  ch*  i'  vi  trovai, 
Diro  dell'  altre  cose,  ch'  io  v'  ho  scorte." 

Inferno,  I.  7-10. 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

an  inversion  which  is  perhaps  not  more  unidio- 

matic  than  Mr.  Gary's,  — 

"  The  cemetery  on  this  part  obtain 
With  Epicurus  all  his  followers, 
Who  with  the  body  make  the  spirit  die  ; " 

but  which  is  advantageously  avoided  by  Mr. 
Wright,  — 

"  Here  Epicurus  hath  his  fiery  tomb, 

And  with  him  all  his  followers,  who  maintain 
That  soul  and  body  share  one  common  doom  ;  " 

and  is  still  better  rendered  by  Dr.  Parsons,  — 

"  Here  in  their  cemetery  on  this  side, 
With  his  whole  sect,  is  Epicurus  pent, 
Who  thought  the  spirit  with  its  body  died."  l 

And  here  my  eyes,  reverting  to  the  end  of 
Canto  IX.,  fall  upon  a  similar  contrast  between 
Mr.  Longfellow's  lines, — 

'«  For  flames  between  the  sepulchres  were  scattered, 
By  which  they  so  intensely  heated  were, 
That  iron  more  so  asks  not  any  art,"  — 

and  those  of  Dr.  Parsons,  — 

"  For  here  mid  sepulchres  were  sprinkled  fires, 

Wherewith  the  enkindled  tombs  all-burning  gleamed  ; 
Metal  more  fiercely  hot  no  art  requires."  a 

1   "  Suo  cimitero  da  questa  parte  hanno 
Con  Epicuro  tutti  i  suoi  seguaci, 
Che  P  anima  col  corpo  morta  fanno." 

Inferno,  X.   13-15. 

*  "  Che  tra  gli  avelli  fiamme  erano  sparte, 
Per  le  quali  eran  si  del  tutto  accesi, 
Che  ferro  piu  non  chiede  verun'  arte." 

Inferno,  IX.  118-120. 

317 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Does  it  not  seem  that  in  all  these  cases  Mr. 
Longfellow,  and  to  a  slightly  less  extent  Mr. 
Gary,  by  their  strict  adherence  to  the  letter, 
transgress  the  ordinary  rules  of  English  con- 
struction ;  and  that  Dr.  Parsons,  by  his  compar- 
ative freedom  of  movement,  produces  better 
poetry  as  well  as  better  English?  In  the  last 
example  especially,  Mr.  Longfellow's  inversions 
are  so  violent  that  to  a  reader  ignorant  of  the 
original  Italian,  his  sentence  might  be  hardly 
intelligible.  In  Italian  such  inversions  are  per- 
missible ;  in  English  they  are  not ;  and  Mr. 
Longfellow,  by  transplanting  them  into  English, 
sacrifices  the  spirit  to  the  letter,  and  creates  an 
obscurity  in  the  translation  where  all  is  lucidity 
in  the  original.  Does  not  this  show  that  the 
theory  of  absolute  literality,  in  the  case  of  two 
languages  so  widely  different  as  English  and 
Italian,  is  not  the  true  one  ? 

Secondly,  Mr.  Longfellow's  theory  of  trans- 
lation leads  him  in  most  cases  to  choose  words 
of  Romanic  origin  in  preference  to  those  of 
Saxon  descent,  and  in  many  cases  to  choose  an 
unfamiliar  instead  of  a  familiar  Romanic  word, 
because  the  former  happens  to  be  etymologi- 
cally  identical  with  the  word  in  the  original.  Let 
me  cite  as  an  example  the  opening  of  Canto  III. : 

««  Per  me  si  va  nella  citta  dolente, 
Per  me  si  va  nell'  eterno  dolore, 
Per  me  si  va  tra  la  perduta  gente." 

318 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

Here  are  three  lines  which,  in  their  matchless 
simplicity  and  grandeur,  might  well  excite  de- 
spair in  the  breast  of  any  translator.  Let  us 
contrast  Mr.  Longfellow's  version, — 

"  Through  me  the  way  is  to  the  city  dolent ; 
Through  me  the  way  is  to  eternal  dole  ; 
Through  me  the  way  among  the  people  lost,"  — • 

with  that  of  Dr.  Parsons,  — 

"  Through  me  you  reach  the  city  of  despair  ; 
Through  me  eternal  wretchedness  ye  find  ; 
Through  me  among  perdition's  race  ye  fare." 

I  do  not  think  any  one  will  deny  that  Dr.  Par- 
sons's  version,  while  far  more  remote  than  Mr. 
Longfellow's  from  the  diction  of  the  original,  is 
somewhat  nearer  its  spirit.  It  remains  to  seek 
the  explanation  of  this  phenomenon.  It  remains 
to  be  seen  why  words  the  exact  counterpart  of 
Dante's  are  unfit  to  call  up  in  our  minds  the 
feelings  which  Dante's  own  words  call  up  in  the 
mind  of  an  Italian.  And  this  inquiry  leads  to 
some  general  considerations  respecting  the  re- 
lation of  English  to  other  European  languages. 
Every  one  is  aware  that  French  poetry,  as 
compared  with  German  poetry,  seems  to  the 
English  reader  very  tame  and  insipid ;  but  the 
cause  of  this  fact  is  by  no  means  so  apparent 
as  the  fact  itself.  That  the  poetry  of  Germany 
is  actually  and  intrinsically  superior  to  that  of 
France  may  readily  be  admitted  ;  but  this  is  not 
enough  to  account  for  all  the  circumstances  of 
319 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  case.  It  does  not  explain  why  some  of  the 
very  passages  in  Corneille  and  Racine,  which  to 
us  appear  dull  and  prosaic,  are  to  the  French- 
man's apprehension  instinct  with  poetic  fervour. 
It  does  not  explain  the  undoubted  fact  that  we, 
who  speak  English,  are  prone  to  underrate 
French  poetry,  while  we  are  equally  disposed  to 
render  to  German  poetry  even  more  than  its  due 
share  of  merit.  The  reason  is  to  be  sought  in 
the  verbal  associations  established  in  our  minds 
by  the  peculiar  composition  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. Our  vocabulary  is  chiefly  made  up  on 
the  one  hand  of  indigenous  Saxon  words,  and 
on  the  other  hand  of  words  derived  from  Latin 
or  French.  It  is  mostly  words  of  the  first  class 
that  we  learn  in  childhood,  and  that  are  associ- 
ated with  our  homeliest  and  deepest  emotions ; 
while  words  of  the  second  class  —  usually  ac- 
quired somewhat  later  in  life  and  employed  in 
sedate  abstract  discourse  —  have  an  intellectual 
rather  than  an  emotional  function  to  fulfil. 
Their  original  significations,  the  physical  meta- 
phors involved  in  them,  which  are  perhaps  still 
somewhat  apparent  to  the  Frenchman,  are  to  us 
wholly  non-existent.  Nothing  but  the  deriva- 
tive or  metaphysical  signification  remains.  No 
physical  image  of  a  man  stepping  over  a  boun- 
dary is  presented  to  our  minds  by  the  word 
transgress,  nor  in  using  the  word  comprehension 
do  we  picture  to  ourselves  any  manual  act  of 
320 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

grasping.  It  is  to  this  double  structure  of  the 
English  language  that  it  owes  its  superiority 
over  every  other  tongue,  ancient  or  modern,  for 
philosophical  and  scientific  purposes.  Albeit 
there  are  numerous  exceptions,  it  may  still  be 
safely  said,  in  a  general  way,  that  we  possess  and 
habitually  use  two  kinds  of  language,  —  one  that 
is  physical,  for  our  ordinary  purposes,  and  one 
that  is  metaphysical,  for  purposes  of  abstract 
reasoning  and  discussion.  We  do  not  say,  like 
the  Germans,  that  we  "  begripe  "  (begreiferi]  an 
idea,  but  we  say  that  we  "  conceive  "  it.  We 
use  a  word  which  once  had  the  very  same  ma- 
terial meaning  as  begreifen,  but  which  has  in  our 
language  utterly  lost  it.  We  are  accordingly 
able  to  carry  on  philosophical  inquiries  by 
means  of  words  which  are  nearly  or  quite  free 
from  those  shadows  of  original  concrete  mean- 
ing which,  in  German,  too  often  obscure  the  ac- 
quired abstract  signification.  Whoever  has  dealt 
in  English  and  German  metaphysics  will  not 
fail  to  recognize  the  prodigious  superiority  of 
English  in  force  and  perspicuity,  arising  mainly 
from  the  causes  here  stated.  But  while  this 
homogeneity  of  structure  in  German  injures  it 
for  philosophical  purposes,  it  is  the  very  thing 
which  makes  it  so  excellent  as  an  organ  for  poet- 
ical expression,  in  the  opinion  .of  those  who 
speak  English.  German  being  nearly  allied  to 
Anglo-Saxon,  not  only  do  its  simple  words 
321 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

strike  us  with  all  the  force  of  our  own  homely 
Saxon  terms,  but  its  compounds  also,  preserving 
their  physical  significations  almost  unimpaired, 
call  up  in  our  minds  concrete  images  of  the 
greatest  definiteness  and  liveliness.  It  is  thus 
that  German  seems  to  us  pre-eminently  a  poet- 
ical language,  and  it  is  thus  that  we  are  natu- 
rally inclined  to  overrate  rather  than  to  depre- 
ciate the  poetry  that  is  written  in  it. 

With  regard  to  French,  the  case  is  just  the 
reverse.  The  Frenchman  has  no  Saxon  words, 
but  he  has,  on  the  other  hand,  an  indigenous 
stock  of  Latin  words,  which  he  learns  in  early 
childhood,  which  give  outlet  to  his  most  inti- 
mate feelings,  and  which  retain  to  some  extent 
their  primitive  concrete  picturesqueness.  They 
are  to  him  just  as  good  as  our  Saxon  words  are 
to  us.  Though  cold  and  merely  intellectual  to 
us,  they  are  to  him  warm  with  emotion ;  and 
this  is  one  reason  why  we  cannot  do  justice  to 
his  poetry,  or  appreciate  it  as  he  appreciates  it. 
To  make  this  perfectly  clear,  let  us  take  two  or 
three  lines  from  Shakespeare  :  — 

"  Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind  ! 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude. 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen,"  etc.,  etc.  ; 

which  I  have  somewhere  seen  thus  rendered 
into  French :  — 


322 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

"  Souffle,  souffle,  vent  d'hiver  ! 
Tu  n'es  pas  si  cruel 
Que  1' ingratitude  de  1'homme. 
Ta  dent  n'est  pas  si  penetrante,"  etc.,  etc. 

Why  are  we  inclined  to  laugh  as  we  read  this? 
Because  it  excites  in  us  an  undercurrent  of  con- 
sciousness which,  if  put  into  words,  might  run 
something  like  this  :  — 

«'  Insufflate,  insufflate,  wind  hibernal  ! 
Thou  art  not  so  cruel 
As  human  ingratitude. 
Thy  dentition  is  not  so  penetrating,"  etc.,  etc. 

No  such  effect  would  be  produced  upon  a 
Frenchman.  The  translation  would  strike  him 
as  excellent,  which  it  really  is.  The  last  line  in 
particular  would  seem  poetical  to  us,  did  we  not 
happen  to  have  in  our  language  words  closely 
akin  to  dent  and  penetrante,  and  familiarly  em- 
ployed in  senses  that  are  not  poetical. 

Applying  these  considerations  to  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's choice  of  words  in  his  translation  of 
Dante,  we  see  at  once  the  unsoundness  of  the 
principle  that  Italian  words  should  be  rendered 
by  their  Romanic  equivalents  in  English. 
Words  that  are  etymologically  identical  with 
those  in  the  original  are  often,  for  that  very 
reason,  the  worst  words  that  could  be  used. 
They  are  harsh  and  foreign  to  the. English  ear, 
however  homelike  and  musical  they  may  be  to 
the  ear  of  an  Italian.  Their  connotations  are 
323 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

unlike  in  the  two  languages ;  and  the  transla- 
tion which  is  made  literally  exact  by  using  them 
is  at  the  same  time  made  actually  inaccurate,  or 
at  least  inadequate.  Dole  and  dolent  are  doubt- 
less the  exact  counterparts  of  dolore  and  dolente, 
so  far  as  mere  etymology  can  go.  But  when  we 
consider  the  effect  that  is  to  be  produced  upon 
the  mind  of  the  reader,  wretchedness  and  despair- 
ing are  far  better  equivalents.  The  former  may 
compel  our  intellectual  assent,  but  the  latter 
awaken  our  emotional  sympathy. 

Doubtless  by  long  familiarity  with  the  Ro- 
manic languages,  the  scholar  becomes  to  a  great 
degree  emancipated  from  the  conditions  imposed 
upon  him  by  the  peculiar  composition  of  his 
native  English.  The  concrete  significance  of 
the  Romanic  words  becomes  apparent  to  him, 
and  they  acquire  energy  and  vitality.  The  ex- 
pression dolent  may  thus  satisfy  the  student 
familiar  with  Italian,  because  it  calls  up  in  his 
mind,  through  the  medium  of  its  equivalent 
dolente,  the  same  associations  which  the  latter 
calls  up  in  the  mind  of  the  Italian  himself.1 
But  this  power  of  appreciating  thoroughly  the 
beauties  of  a  foreign  tongue  is  in  the  last  degree 

1  A  consummate  Italian  scholar,  the  delicacy  of  whose 
taste  is  questioned  by  no  one,  and  whose  knowledge  of 
Dante's  diction  is  probably  not  inferior  to  Mr.  Longfellow's, 
has  told  me  that  he  regards  the  expression  as  a  noble  and 
effective  one,  full  of  dignity  and  solemnity. 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

an  acquired  taste,  —  as  much  so  as  the  taste  for 
olives  and  kirschenwasser  to  the  carnal  palate. 
It  is  only  by  long  and  profound  study  that  we 
can  thus  temporarily  vest  ourselves,  so  to  speak, 
with  a  French  or  Italian  consciousness  in  ex- 
change for  our  English  one.  The  literary  epi- 
cure may  keenly  relish  such  epithets  as  dolent ; 
but  the  common  English  reader,  who  loves 
plain  fare,  can  hardly  fail  to  be  startled  by  it. 
To  him  it  savours  of  the  grotesque ;  and  if 
there  is  any  one  thing  especially  to  be  avoided 
in  the  interpretation  of  Dante,  it  is  grotesque- 
ness. 

Those  who  have  read  over  Dante  without 
reading  into  him,  and  those  who  have  derived 
their  impressions  of  his  poem  from  M.  Dore's 
memorable  illustrations,  will  here  probably 
demur.  What !  Dante  not  grotesque !  That 
funnel-shaped  structure  of  the  infernal  pit; 
Minos  passing  sentence  on  the  damned  by  coil- 
ing his  tail ;  Charon  beating  the  lagging  shades 
with  his  oar ;  Antaios  picking  up  the  poets  with 
his  fingers  and  lowering  them  in  the  hollow  of 
his  hand  into  the  Ninth  Circle ;  Satan  crunch- 
ing in  his  monstrous  jaws  the  arch-traitors, 
Judas,  Brutus,  and  Cassius  ;  Ugolino  appeasing 
his  famine  upon  the  tough  nape  of  Ruggieri ; 
Bertrand  de  Born  looking  (if  I  may  be  allowed 
the  expression)  at  his  own  dissevered  head ;  the 
robbers  exchanging  form  with  serpents ;  the 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

whole  demoniac  troop  of  Malebolge,  —  are 
not  all  these  things  grotesque  beyond  every- 
thing else  in  poetry  ?  To  us,  nurtured  in  this 
scientific  nineteenth  century,  they  doubtless 
seem  so ;  and  by  Leigh  Hunt,  who  had  the 
eighteenth-century  way  of  appreciating  other 
ages  than  his  own,  they  were  uniformly  treated 
as  such.  To  us  they  are  at  first  sight  grotesque, 
because  they  are  no  longer  real  to  us.  We  have 
ceased  to  believe  in  such  things,  and  they  no 
longer  awaken  any  feeling  akin  to  terror.  But 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  in  the  minds  of 
Dante  and  his  readers,  they  were  living,  terrible 
realities.  That  Dante  believed  literally  in  all 
this  unearthly  world,  and  described  it  with  such 
wonderful  minuteness  because  he  believed  in  it, 
admits  of  little  doubt.  As  he  walked  the  streets 
of  Verona  the  people  whispered,  "  See,  there  is 
the  man  who  has  been  in  hell ! "  Truly,  he 
had  been  in  hell,  and  described  it  as  he  had  seen 
it,  with  the  keen  eyes  of  imagination  and  faith. 
With  all  its  weird  unearthliness,  there  is  hardly 
another  book  in  the  whole  range  of  human  lit- 
erature which  is  marked  with  such  unswerving 
veracity  as  the  "  Divine  Comedy."  Nothing  is 
there  set  down  arbitrarily,  out  of  wanton  caprice 
or  for  the  sake  of  poetic  effect,  but  because  to 
Dante's  imagination  it  had  so  imposingly  shown 
itself  that  he  could  not  but  describe  it  as  he  saw 
it.  In  reading  his  cantos  we  forget  the  poet, 
326 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

and  have  before  us  only  the  veracious  traveller 
in  strange  realms,  from  whom  the  shrewdest 
cross-examination  can  elicit  but  one  consistent 
account.  To  his  mind,  and  to  the  mediaeval  mind 
generally,  this  outer  kingdom,  with  its  wards 
of  Despair,  Expiation,  and  Beatitude,  was  as 
real  as  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  itself.  Its  ex- 
traordinary phenomena  were  not  to  be  looked 
on  with  critical  eyes  and  called  grotesque,  but 
were  to  be  seen  with  eyes  of  faith,  and  to  be 
worshipped,  loved,  or  shuddered  at.  Rightly 
viewed,  therefore,  the  poem  of  Dante  is  not 
grotesque,  but  unspeakably  awful  and  solemn ; 
and  the  statement  is  justified  that  all  grotesque- 
ness  and  bizarrerie  in  its  interpretation  is  to  be 
sedulously  avoided. 

Therefore,  while  acknowledging  the  accuracy 
with  which  Mr.  Longfellow  has  kept  pace  with 
his  original  through  line  after  line,  following 
the  "  footing  of  its  feet,"  according  to  the  motto 
quoted  on  his  title-page,  I  cannot  but  think  that 
his  accuracy  would  have  been  of  a  somewhat 
higher  kind  if  he  had  now  and  then  allowed 

D 

himself  a  little  more  liberty  of  choice  between 
English  and  Romanic  words  and  idioms. 

A  few  examples  will  perhaps  serve  to 
strengthen  as  well  as  to  elucidate  still  further 
this  position. 

"  Inferno,"  Canto  III.,  line  22,  according  to 


Longfellow :  — 


327 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

"  There  sighs,  complaints,  and  ululations  loud 
Resounded  through  the  air  without  a  star, 
Whence  I  at  the  beginning  wept  thereat." 

According  to  Gary  :  — 

"  Here  sighs,  with  lamentations  and  loud  moans 
Resounded  through  the  air  pierced  by  no  star, 
That  e'en  I  wept  at  entering." 

According  to  Parsons  :  — 

*'  Mid  sighs,  laments,  and  hollow  howls  of  woe, 
Which,  loud  resounding  through  the  starless  air, 
Forced  tears  of  pity  from  mine  eyes  at  first."  * 

Canto  V.,  line  84  :  — 
LONGFELLOW.  — "  Fly    through   the    air   by    their   volition 

borne. ' ' 

GARY.  —  "  Cleave  the  air,  wafted  by  their  will  along." 
PARSONS.  — "  Sped  ever  onward  by  their  wish  alone."  2 

Canto  XVII.,  line  42  :  — 

LONGFELLOW.  —  "  That  he  concede  to  us  his  stalwart  shoul- 
ders." 
GARY.  —  "  That  to  us  he  may  vouchsafe 

The  aid  of  his  strong  shoulders." 
PARSONS.  —  "  And  ask  for  us  his  shoulders'  strong  support. 

Canto  XVII.,  line  25:- 

LONGFELLOW.  —  "  His  tail  was  wholly  quivering  in  the  void, 
Contorting  upwards  the  envenomed  fork 
That  in  the  guise  of  scorpion  armed   its 
point. ' ' 

1  *«  Quivi  sospiri,  pianri  ed  aid  guai 

Risonavan  per  1'  aer  senza  stelle, 
Perch'  io  al  cominciar  ne  lagrimai." 

2  "  Volan  per  1'  aer  dal  voler  portate." 
*  '«  Che  ne  conceda  i  suoi  omeri  forri." 

328 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

GARY.  —  "In  the  void 

Glancing,  his  tail  upturned  its  venomous  fork, 
With  sting  like  scorpions  armed." 

PARSONS.  —  "  In  the  void  chasm  his  trembling  tail  he  showed, 
As  up  the  envenomed,  forked  point  he  swung, 
Which,    as   in   scorpions,    armed  its   tapering 
end."  i 

Canto  V.,  line  51  :  — 

LONGFELLOW.  —  "  People  whom  the  black  air  so  castigates." 
GARY.  —  "By  the  black  air  so  scourged."  2 

Line  136  :  — 
LONGFELLOW.  — "Kissed  me  upon  the  mouth   all  palpitat- 

ing-" 
GARY.  —  "  My  lips  all  trembling  kissed."  8 

"  Purgatorio,"  Canto  XV.,  line  139  :  — 
LONGFELLOW.  —  "  We  passed  along,    athwart  the   twilight 

peering 

Forward  as  far  as  ever  eye  could  stretch 
Against  the  sunbeams serotine  and  lucent."  * 

Mr.  Gary's  "  bright  vespertine  ray  "  is  only  a 
trifle  better ;  but  Mr.  Wright's  "  splendour  of 
the  evening  ray  "  is,  in  its  simplicity,  far  prefer- 
able. 

Canto  XXXI.,  line  131  :  — 

1  "  Nel  vano  tutta  sua  coda  guizzava, 

Torcendo  in  su  la  venenosa  forca, 

Che,  a  guisa  di  scorpion,  la  punta  armava." 

2  "  Genti  che  1'  aura  nera  si  gastiga." 

8   "  La  bocca  mi  bacio  tutto  tremante." 
4    "  Noi  andavam  per  lo  vespero  attend 

Oltre,  quanto  potean  gli  occhi  allungarsi, 

Contra  i  raggi  serotini  e  lucenti." 

329 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

LONGFELLOW.  —          "  Did  the  other  three  advance 

Singing  to  their  angelic  saraband." 
GARY.  —  "  To  their  own  carol  on  they  came 

Dancing,  in  festive  ring  angelical." 
WRIGHT.  —  "  And  songs  accompanied  their  angel  dance." 

Here  Mr.    Longfellow  has  apparently  fol- 
lowed the  authority  of  the  Crusca,  reading 
"  Cantando  al  loro  angelico  carribo," 

and  translating  carribo  by  saraband,  a  kind  of 
Moorish  dance.    The  best  manuscripts,  how- 
ever, sanction  M.  Witte's  reading :  — 
«'  Danzando  al  loro  angelico  carribo." 

If  this  be  correct,  carribo  cannot  signify  "  a 
dance,"  but  rather  "  the  song  which  accom- 
panies the  dance ;  "  and  the  true  sense  of  the 
passage  will  have  been  best  rendered  by  Mr. 
Gary.1 

Whenever  Mr.  Longfellow's  translation  is 
kept  free  from  oddities  of  diction  and  construc- 
tion, it  is  very  animated  and  vigorous.  No- 
thing can  be  finer  than  his  rendering  of  "  Pur- 
gatorio,"  Canto  VI.,  lines  97—117  :  — 

f<  O  German  Albert  !  who  abandonest 

Her  that  has  grown  recalcitrant  and  savage, 
And  oughtest  to  bestride  her  saddle-bow, 
May  a  just  judgment  from  the  stars  down  fall 
Upon  thy  blood,  and  be  it  new  and  open, 
That  thy  successor  may  have  fear  thereof: 
Because  thy  father  and  thyself  have  suffered, 

By  greed  of  those  transalpine  lands  distrained, 
1  See  Blanc,  Vocabolario  Dantesco,  s.  v.  "  caribo." 
330 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

The  garden  of  the  empire  to  be  waste. 
Come  and  behold  Montecchi  and  Cappellettt, 

Monaldi  and  Filippeschi,  careless  man  ! 

Those  sad  already,  and  these  doubt-depressed  ! 
Come,  cruel  one  !  come  and  behold  the  oppression 

Of  thy  nobility,  and  cure  their  wounds, 

And  thou  shalt  see  how  safe  £?]  is  Santafiore. 
Come  and  behold  thy  Rome  that  is  lamenting, 

Widowed,  alone,  and  day  and  night  exclaims 

'  My  Caesar,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  ' 
Come  and  behold  how  loving  are  the  people  ; 

And  if  for  us  no  pity  moveth  thee, 

Come  and  be  made  ashamed  of  thy  renown."  l 

1  «'  O  Alberto  Tedesco,  che  abbandoni 

Costei  ch'  e  fatta  indomita  e  selvaggia, 
E  dovresti  inforcar  li  suoi  arcioni, 

Giusto  giudizio  dalle  stelle  caggia 

Sopra  il  tuo  sangue,  e  sia  nuovo  ed  aperto, 
Tal  che  il  tuo  successor  temenza  n'  aggia  : 

Che  avete  tu  e  il  tuo  padre  sofferto, 
Per  cupidigia  di  costa  distretti, 
Che  il  giardin  dell'  imperio  sia  diserto. 

Vieni  a  veder  Montecchi  e  Cappelletri, 
Monaldi  e  Filippeschi,  uom  senza  cura  : 
Color  gia  tristi,  e  questi  con  sospetri. 

Vien,  crudel,  vieni,  e  vedi  la  pressura 
De'  tuoi  gen tili,  e  cura  lor  magagne, 
E  vedrai  Santafior  com'  e  oscura    [secura  ?  ]]. 

Vieni  a  veder  la  tua  Roma  che  piagne, 
Vedova  e  sola,  e  di  e  notte  chiama  : 
Cesare  mio,  perch  e  non  m'  accompagne  ? 

Vieni  a  veder  la  gente  quanto  s' .  ama  ; 
E  se  nulla  di  noi  pieta  ti  move, 
A  vergognar  ti  vien  della  tua  fama." 

331 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 
So,  too,  Canto  III.,  lines  79-84  :  — 

"  As  sheep  come  issuing  forth  from  out  the  fold 

By  ones,  and  twos,  and  threes,  and  the  others  stand 
Timidly  holding  down  then-  eyes  and  nostrils, 
And  what  the  foremost  does  the  others  do 
Huddling  themselves  against  her  if  she  stop, 
Simple  and  quiet,  and  the  wherefore  know  not."  1 

Francesca's  exclamation  to  Dante  is  thus 
rendered  by  Mr.  Longfellow  :  — 

"  And  she  to  me  :  There  is  no  greater  sorrow 
Than  to  be  mindful  of  the  happy  time 
In  misery."  2 

This  is  admirable,  —  full  of  the  true  poetic 
glow,  which  would  have  been  utterly  quenched 
if  some  Romanic  equivalent  of  dolor ~e  had  been 
used  instead  of  our  good  Saxon  sorrow?  So, 
too,  the  "  Paradise,"  Canto  I.,  line  100  :  — 

1  "  Come  le  pecorelle  escon  del  chiuso 

Ad  una,  a  due,  a  tre,  e  1'  altre  stanno 
Timidette  atterrando  1'  occhio  e  il  muso  ; 
E  cio  che  fa  la  prima,  e  1'  altre  fanno, 
Addossandosi  a  lei  s'  ella  s'  arresta, 
Semplici  e  quete,  e  lo  'mperche  non  sanno." 

2  «'  Ed  ella  a  me  :  Nessun  maggior  dolore 

Che  ricordarsi  del  tempo  felice 

Nella  miseria. ' '  Inferno,  V.  121-123. 

8  Yet  admirable  as  it  is,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that  Dr. 
Parsons,  by  taking  further  liberty  with  the  original,  has  not 
surpassed  it :  — 

"  And  she  to  me  :  The  mightiest  of  all  woes 
Is  in  the  midst  of  misery  to  be  cursed 
With  bliss  remembered." 

332 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

"  Whereupon  she,  after  a  pitying  sigh, 
Her  eyes  directed  toward  me  with  that  look 
A  mother  casts  on  a  delirious  child."  1 

And  finally  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  canto 
of  the  "  Purgatorio  :  "  — 

"  'T  was  now  the  hour  that  turneth  back  desire 

In  those  who  sail  the  sea,  and  melts  the  heart, 
The  day  they  've  said  to  their  sweet  friends  farewell  ; 
And  the  new  pilgrim  penetrates  with  love, 
If  he  doth  hear  from  far  away  a  bell 
That  seemeth  to  deplore  the  dying  day."  a 

This  passage  affords  an  excellent  example  of 
what  the  method  of  literal  translation  can  do 
at  its  best.  Except  in  the  second  line,  where 
"  those  who  sail  the  sea  "  is  wisely  preferred  to 
any  Romanic  equivalent  of  naviganti,  the  ver- 
sion is  utterly  literal ;  as  literal  as  the  one  the 
school-boy  makes,  when  he  opens  his  Virgil 
at  the  Fourth  Eclogue,  and  lumberingly  reads, 
"  Sicilian  Muses,  let  us  sing  things  a  little 
greater."  But  there  is  nothing  clumsy,  nothing 
which  smacks  of  the  recitation-room,  in  these 
lines  of  Mr.  Longfellow.  For  easy  grace  and 

1  "  Ond'  ella,  appresso  d'  un  pio  sospiro, 

Gli  occhi  drizzo  ver  me  con  quel  sembiante, 
Che  madre  fa  sopra  figliuol  deliro." 

2  "  Era  gia  1'  ora  che  volge  il  disio 

Ai  naviganti,  e  intenerisce  il  core 
Lo  di  ch'  han  detto  ai  dolci  amici  addio  ; 
E  che  lo  nuovo  peregrin  d'  amore 
Punge,  se  ode  squilla  di  lontano, 
Che  paia  il  giorno  pianger  che  si  more." 

333 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

exquisite  beauty  it  would  be  difficult  to  surpass 
them.  They  may  well  bear  comparison  with 
the  beautiful  lines  into  which  Lord  Byron  has 
rendered  the  same  thought :  — 

"  Soft  hour  which  wakes  the  wish,  and  melts  the  heart, 
Of  those  who  sail  the  seas,  on  the  first  day 

When  they  from  their  sweet  friends  are  torn  apart ; 
Or  fills  with  love  the  pilgrim  on  his  way, 

As  the  far  bell  of  vesper  makes  him  start, 
Seeming  to  weep  the  dying  day's  decay. 

Is  this  a  fancy  which  our  reason  scorns  ? 

Ah,  surely  nothing  dies  but  something  mourns  !  "  l 

Setting  aside  the  concluding  sentimental  gener- 
alization,—  which  is  much  more  Byronic  than 
Dantesque, —  one  hardly  knows  which  version 
to  call  more  truly  poetical ;  but  for  a  faithful 
rendering  of  the  original  conception  one  can 
hardly  hesitate  to  give  the  palm  to  Mr.  Long- 
fellow. 

Thus  we  see  what  may  be  achieved  by  the 
most  highly  gifted  of  translators  who  contents 
himself  with  passively  reproducing  the  diction 
of  his  original,  who  constitutes  himself,  as  it 
were,  a  conduit  through  which  the  meaning  of 
the  original  may  flow.  Where  the  differences 
inherent  in  the  languages  employed  do  not  in- 
tervene to  alloy  the  result,  the  stream  of  the 
original  may,  as  in  the  verses  just  cited,  come 
out  pure  and  unweakened.  Too  often,  how- 
ever, such  is  the  subtle  chemistry  of  thought, 
lDon  Juan,  III.  108. 

334 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

it  will  come  out  diminished  in  its  integrity,  or 
will  appear,  bereft  of  its  primitive  properties,  as 
a  mere  element  in  some  new  combination.  Our 
channel  is  a  trifle  too  alkaline  perhaps  ;  and 
that  the  transferred  material  may  preserve  its 
pleasant  sharpness,  we  may  need  to  throw  in  a 
little  extra  acid.  Too  often  the  mere  differ- 
ences between  English  and  Italian  prevent 
Dante's  expressions  from  coming  out  in  Mr. 
Longfellow's  version  so  pure  and  unimpaired 
as  in  the  instance  just  cited.  But  these  differ- 
ences cannot  be  ignored.  They  lie  deep  in  the 
very  structure  of  human  speech,  and  are  nar- 
rowly implicated  with  equally  profound  nuances 
in  the  composition  of  human  thought.  The 
causes  which  make  dolente  a  solemn  word  to  the 
Italian  ear,  and  dolent  a  queer  word  to  the  Eng- 
lish ear,  are  causes  which  have  been  slowly  op- 
erating ever  since  the  Italican  and  the  Teuton 
parted  company  on  their  way  from  Central 
Asia.  They  have  brought  about  a  state  of 
things  which  no  cunning  of  the  translator  can 
essentially  alter,  but  to  the  emergencies  of  which 
he  must  graciously  conform  his  proceedings. 
Here,  then,  is  the  sole  point  on  which  we  dis- 
agree with  Mr.  Longfellow,  the  sole  reason  we 
have  for  thinking  that  he  has  not  attained  the 
fullest  possible  measure  of  success.  Not  that  he 
has  made  a  "  realistic  "  translation,  —  so  far  we 
conceive  him  to  be  entirely  right ;  but  that, 

335 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

by  dint  of  pushing  sheer  literalism  beyond  its 
proper  limits,  he  has  too  often  failed  to  be 
truly  realistic.  Let  us  here  explain  what  is 
meant  by  realistic  translation. 

Every  thoroughly  conceived  and  adequately 
executed  translation  of  an  ancient  author  must 
be  founded  upon  some  conscious  theory  or 
some  unconscious  instinct  of  literary  criticism. 
As  is  the  critical  spirit  of  an  age,  so  among 
other  things  will  be  its  translations.  Now  the 
critical  spirit  of  every  age  previous  to  our  own 
has  been  characterized  by  its  inability  to  appre- 
ciate sympathetically  the  spirit  of  past  and  by- 
gone times.  In  the  seventeenth  century  criti- 
cism made  idols  of  its  ancient  models  ;  it  ac- 
knowledged no  serious  imperfections  in  them ; 
it  set  them  up  as  exemplars  for  the  present  and 
all  future  times  to  copy.  Let  the  genial  Epi- 
curean henceforth  write  like  Horace,  let  the 
epic  narrator  imitate  the  supreme  elegance  of 
Virgil,  — that  was  the  conspicuous  idea,  the 
conspicuous  error,  of  seventeenth-century  criti- 
cism. It  overlooked  the  differences  between 
one  age  and  another.  Conversely,  when  it 
brought  Roman  patricians  and  Greek  oligarchs 
on  to  the  stage,  it  made  them  behave  like 
French  courtiers  or  Castilian  grandees  or  Eng- 
lish peers.  When  it  had  to  deal  with  ancient 
heroes,  it  clothed  them  in  the  garb  and  imputed 
to  them  the  sentiments  of  knights-errant.  Then 
336 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

came  the  revolutionary  criticism  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  which  assumed  that  everything 
old  was  wrong,  while  everything  new  was  right. 
It  recognized  crudely  the  differences  between 
one  age  and  another,  but  it  had  a  way  of  look- 
ing down  upon  all  ages  except  the  present. 
This  intolerance  shown  towards  the  past  was 
indeed  a  measure  of  the  crudeness  with  which 
it  was  comprehended.  Because  Mohammed, 
if  he  had  done  what  he  did,  in  France  and  in 
the  eighteenth  century,  would  have  been  called 
an  impostor,  Voltaire,  the  great  mouthpiece  and 
representative  of  this  style  of  criticism,  por- 
trays him  as  an  impostor.  Recognition  of  the 
fact  that  different  ages  are  different,  together 
with  inability  to  perceive  that  they  ought  to  be 
different,  that  their  differences  lie  in  the  nature  of 
progress, — this  was  the  prominent  characteristic 
of  eighteenth-century  criticism.  Of  all  the  great 
men  of  that  century,  Lessing  was  perhaps  the 
only  one  who  outgrew  this  narrow  critical  habit. 
Now  nineteenth-century  criticism  not  only 
knows  that  in  no  preceding  age  have  men 
thought  and  behaved  as  they  now  think  and 
behave,  but  it  also  understands  that  old-fash- 
ioned thinking  and  behaviour  was  in  its  way 
just  as  natural  and  sensible  as  that  which  is  now 
new-fashioned.  It  does  not  flippantly  sneer  at 
an  ancient  custom  because  we  no  longer  cherish 
it ;  but  with  an  enlightened  regard  for  every- 

337 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

thing  human,  it  inquires  into  its  origin,  traces 
its  effects,  and  endeavours  to  explain  its  decay. 
It  is  slow  to  characterize  Mohammed  as  an  im- 
postor, because  it  has  come  to  feel  that  Arabia 
in  the  seventh  century  is  one  thing  and  Europe 
in  the  nineteenth  another.  It  is  scrupulous 
about  branding  Caesar  as  an  usurper,  because  it 
has  discovered  that  what  Mr.  Mill  calls  repub- 
lican liberty  and  what  Cicero  called  republican 
liberty  are  widely  different  notions.  It  does 
not  tell  us  to  bow  down  before  Lucretius  and 
Virgil  as  unapproachable  models,  while  lament- 
ing our  own  hopeless  inferiority  ;  nor  does  it 
tell  us  to  set  them  down  as  half-skilled  appren- 
tices, while  congratulating  ourselves  on  our  own 
comfortable  superiority ;  but  it  tells  us  to  study 
them  as  the  exponents  of  an  age  forever  gone, 
from  which  we  have  still  many  lessons  to  learn, 
though  we  no  longer  think  as  it  thought  or 
feel  as  it  felt.  The  eighteenth  century,  as  re- 
presented by  the  characteristic  passage  from 
Voltaire,  cited  by  Mr.  Longfellow,  failed  ut- 
terly to  understand  Dante.  To  the  minds  of 
Voltaire  and  his  contemporaries  the  great  medi- 
aeval poet  was  little  else  than  a  Titanic  mon- 
strosity, —  a  maniac,  whose  ravings  found 
rhythmical  expression ;  his  poem  a  grotesque 
medley,  wherein  a  few  beautiful  verses  were 
buried  under  the  weight  of  whole  cantos  of  non- 
sensical scholastic  quibbling.  This  view,  some- 
338 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

what  softened,  we  find  also  in  Leigh  Hunt, 
whose  whole  account  of  Dante  is  an  excellent 
specimen  of  this  sort  of  criticism.  Mr.  Hunt's 
fine  moral  nature  was  shocked  and  horrified 
by  the  terrible  punishments  described  in  the 
"  Inferno."  He  did  not  duly  consider  that  in 
Dante's  time  these  fearful  things  were  an  indis- 
pensable part  of  every  man's  theory  of  the 
world ;  and,  blinded  by  his  kindly  prejudices, 
he  does  not  seem  to  have  perceived  that  Dante, 
in  accepting  eternal  torments  as  part  and  parcel 
of  the  system  of  nature,  was  nevertheless,  in 
describing  them,  inspired  with  that  ineffable 
tenderness  of  pity  which,  in  the  episodes  of 
Francesca  and  of  Brunetto  Latini,  has  melted  the 
hearts  of  men  in  past  times,  and  will  continue 
to  do  so  in  times  to  come.  "  Infinite  pity,  yet 
infinite  rigour  of  law  !  It  is  so  Nature  is  made : 
it  is  so  Dante  discerned  that  she  was  made."  * 
This  remark  of  the  great  seer  of  our  time  is 
what  the  eighteenth  century  could  in  no  wise 
comprehend.  The  men  of  that  day  failed  to 
appreciate  Dante,  just  as  they  were  oppressed 
or  disgusted  at  the  sight  of  Gothic  architecture  ; 
just  as  they  pronounced  the  scholastic  philoso- 
phy an  unmeaning  jargon  ;  just  as  they  consid- 
ered mediaeval  Christianity  a  gigantic  system 
of  charlatanry,  and  were  wont  unreservedly  to 
characterize  the  Papacy  as  a  blighting  despotism. 
1  Carlyle,  Heroes  and  Hero-  Worship,  p.  84. 

339 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

In  our  time  cultivated  men  think  differently. 
We  have  learned  that  the  interminable  hair- 
splitting of  Aquinas  and  Abelard  has  added 
precision  to  modern  thinking.1  We  do  not 
curse  Gregory  VII.  and  Innocent  III.  as  ene- 
mies of  the  human  race,  but  revere  them  as 
benefactors.  We  can  spare  a  morsel  of  hearty 
admiration  for  Becket,  however  strongly  we 
may  sympathize  with  the  stalwart  king  who 
did  penance  for  his  foul  murder ;  and  we  can 
appreciate  Dante's  poor  opinion  of  Philip  the 
Fair  no  less  than  his  denunciation  of  Boniface 
VIII.  The  contemplation  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture, as  we  stand  entranced  in  the  sublime 
cathedrals  of  York  or  Rouen,  awakens  in  our 
breasts  a  genuine  response  to  the  mighty  aspira- 
tions which  thus  became  incarnate  in  enduring 
stone.  And  the  poem  of  Dante  —  which  has 
been  well  likened  to  a  great  cathedral  —  we 
reverently  accept,  with  all  its  quaint  carvings 
and  hieroglyphic  symbols,  as  the  authentic  ut- 
terance of  feelings  which  still  exist,  though  they 
no  longer  choose  the  same  form  of  expression. 

A  century  ago,  therefore,  a  translation  of 
Dante  such  as  Mr.  Longfellow's  would  have 
been  impossible.  The  criticism  of  that  time 
was  in  no  mood  for  realistic  reproductions  of 
the  antique.  It  either  superciliously  neglected 
the  antique,  or  else  dressed  it  up  to  suit  its 

1  See  my  Outlines  of  Cosmic  Philosophy,  part  i.,  chap.  v. 
340 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

own  notions  of  propriety.  It  was  not  like  a 
seven-league  boot  which  could  fit  everybody, 
but  it  was  like  a  Procrustes-bed  which  every- 
body must  be  made  to  fit.  Its  great  exponent 
was  not  a  Sainte-Beuve,  but  a  Boileau.  Its 
typical  sample  of  a  reproduction  of  the  antique 
was  Pope's  translation  of  the  Iliad.  That 
book,  we  presume,  everybody  has  read ;  and 
many  of  those  who  have  read  it  know  that, 
though  an  excellent  and  spirited  poem,  it  is  no 
more  Homer  than  the  age  of  Queen  Anne  was 
the  age  of  Peisistratos.  Of  the  translations  of 
Dante  made  during  this  period,  the  chief  was 
unquestionably  Mr.  Gary's.1  For  a  man  born 
and  brought  up  in  the  most  unpoetical  of 
centuries,  Mr.  Gary  certainly  made  a  very 
good  poem,  though  not  so  good  as  Pope's. 
But  it  fell  far  short  of  being  a  reproduction  of 
Dante.  The  eighteenth-century  note  rings  out 
loudly  on  every  page  of  it.  Like  much  other 
poetry  of  the  time,  it  is  laboured  and  artificial. 
Its  sentences  are  often  involved  and  occasion- 
ally obscure.  Take,  for  instance,  Canto  IV. 
25-36  of  the  "  Paradiso  :  "  — 

«'  These  are  the  questions  which  they  will 
Urge  equally  ;  and  therefore  I  the  first 
Of  that  will  treat  which  hath  the  more  of  gall. 
Of  seraphim  he  who  is  most  enskied, 

1  This  work  comes  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth-century 
period,  as  Pope's  translation  of  Homer  comes  at  the  beginning. 

341 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Moses,  and  Samuel,  and  either  John, 

Choose  which  thou  wilt,  nor  even  Mary's  self, 

Have  not  in  any  other  heaven  their  seats, 

Than  have  those  spirits  which  so  late  thou  saw'st ; 

Nor  more  or  fewer  years  exist  ;  but  all 

Make  the  first  circle  beauteous,  diversely 

Partaking  of  sweet  life,  as  more  or  less 

Afflation  of  eternal  bliss  pervades  them." 

Here  Mr.  Gary  not  only  fails  to  catch 
Dante's  grand  style  ;  he  does  not  even  write  a 
style  at  all.  It  is  too  constrained  and  awkward 
to  be  dignified,  and  dignity  is  an  indispen- 
sable element  of  style.  Without  dignity  we 
may  write  clearly,  or  nervously,  or  racily,  but 
we  have  not  attained  to  a  style.  This  is  the 
second  shortcoming  of  Mr.  Gary's  translation. 
Like  Pope's,  it  fails  to  catch  the  grand  style 
of  its  original.  Unlike  Pope's,  it  frequently 
fails  to  exhibit  any  style. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  spend  much  time 
in  proving  that  Mr.  Longfellow's  version  is 
far  superior  to  Mr.  Gary's.  It  is  usually  easy 
and  flowing,  and  save  in  the  occasional  use 
of  violent  inversions,  always  dignified.  Some- 
times, as  in  the  episode  of  Ugolino,  it  even 
rises  to  something  like  the  grandeur  of  the 
original :  — 

"  When  he  had  said  this,  with  his  eyes  distorted, 
The  wretched  skull  resumed  he  with  his  teeth, 
Which,  as  a  dog's,  upon  the  bone  were  strong."  x 

1  "  Quand'  ebbe  detto  cio,  con  gli  occhi  torn 
342 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

That  is  in  the  grand  style,  and  so  is  the 
following,  which  describes  those  sinners  locked 
in  the  frozen  lake  below  Malebolge :  — 

*<  Weeping  itself  there  does  not  let  them  weep, 
And  grief  that  finds  a  barrier  in  the  eyes 
Turns  itself  inward  to  increase  the  anguish."  1 

And  the  exclamation  of  one  of  these  poor 
"  wretches  of  the  frozen  crust "  is  an  exclama- 
tion that  Shakespeare  might  have  written  :  — 

«'  Lift  from  mine  eyes  the  rigid  veils,  that  I 

May  vent  the  sorrow  which  impregns  my  heart."  2 

There  is  nothing  in  Mr.  Gary's  translation 
which  can  stand  a  comparison  with  that.  The 
eighteenth  century  could  not  translate  like  that. 
For  here  at  last  we  have  a  real  reproduction 
of  the  antique.  In  the  Shakespearian  ring  of 
these  lines  we  recognize  the  authentic  render- 
ing of  the  tones  of  the  only  man  since  the 
Christian  era  who  could  speak  like  Shake- 
speare. 

Riprese  il  teschio  misero  coi  denti, 

Che  furo  all'  osso,  come  d'  un  can,  ford." 

Inferno,  XXXIII.  76. 

1  "  Lo  pianto  stesso  li  pianger  non  lascia, 

E  il  duol,  che  trova  in  sugli  occhi  rintoppo, 
Si  volve  in  entro  a  far  crescer  1'  ambascia." 

Ib.,  94. 

8  "  Levatemi  dal  viso  i  duri  veli, 

Si  ch'  io  sfoghi  il  dolor  che  il  cor  m'  impregna." 

Ib.,  112. 

343 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

In  this  way  Mr.  Longfellow's  translation  is, 
to  an  eminent  degree,  realistic.  It  is  a  work 
conceived  and  executed  in  entire  accordance 
with  the  spirit  of  our  time.  Mr.  Longfellow 
has  set  about  making  a  reconstructive  trans- 
lation, and  he  has  succeeded  in  the  attempt. 
In  view  of  what  he  has  done,  no  one  can  ever 
wish  to  see  the  old  methods  of  Pope  and  Gary 
again  resorted  to.  It  is  only  where  he  fails  to 
be  truly  realistic  that  he  comes  short  of  success. 
And,  as  already  hinted,  it  is  oftenest  through 
sheer  excess  of  literalism  that  he  ceases  to  be 
realistic,  and  departs  from  the  spirit  of  his 
author  instead  of  coming  nearer  to  it.  In  the 
"  Paradise,"  Canto  X.  1-6,  his  method  leads 
him  into  awkwardness  :  — 

«'  Looking  into  His  Son  with  all  the  love 
Which  each  of  them  eternally  breathes  forth, 
The  primal  and  unutterable  Power 
Whate'er  before  the  mind  or  eye  revolves 
With  so  much  order  made,  there  can  be  none 
Who  this  beholds  without  enjoying  Him." 

This  seems  clumsy  and  halting,  yet  it  is  an 
extremely  literal  paraphrase  of  a  graceful  and 
flowing  original :  — 

"  Guardando  nel  suo  figlio  con  1'  amore 

Che  T  uno  e  1*  altro  eternalmente  spira, 
Lo  primo  ed  ineffabile  Valore, 
Quanto  per  mente  o  per  loco  si  gira 

Con  tanto  ordine  fe',  ch'  esser  non  puote 
Senza  gustar  di  lui  chi  cio  rimira. ' ' 

344 


LONGFELLOW'S  DANTE 

Now  to  turn  a  graceful  and  flowing  sentence 
into  one  that  is  clumsy  and  halting  is  certainly 
not  to  reproduce  it,  no  matter  how  exactly  the 
separate  words  are  rendered,  or  how  closely 
the  syntactic  constructions  match  each  other. 
And  this  consideration  seems  conclusive  as 
against  the  adequacy  of  the  literalist  method. 
That  method  is  inadequate,  not  because  it 
is  too  realistic,  but  because  it  runs  continual 
risk  of  being  too  verbalistic.  It  has  recently 
been  applied  to  the  translation  of  Dante  by 
Mr.  Rossetti,  and  it  has  sometimes  led  him  to 
write  curious  verses.  For  instance,  he  makes 
Francesca  say  to  Dante, — 

"  O  gracious  and  benignant  animal!  '* 
for 

"  O  animal  grazioso  e  benigno  !  " 

Mr.  Longfellow's  good  taste  has  prevented  his 
doing  anything  like  this,  yet  Mr.  Rossetti's 
extravagance  is  due  to  an  unswerving  ad- 
herence to  the  very  rules  by  which  Mr.  Long- 
fellow has  been  guided. 

Good  taste  and  poetic  genius  are,  however, 
better  than  the  best  of  rules,  and  so,  after  all 
said  and  done,  we  can  only  conclude  that  Mr. 
Longfellow  has  given  us  a  great  and  noble 
work  not  likely  soon  to  be  equalled.  Leopardi 
somewhere,  in  speaking  of  the  early  Italian 
translators  of  the  classics  and  their  well-earned 
popularity,  says,  Who  knows  but  Caro  will 

345 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

live  in  men's  remembrance  as  long  as  Virgil  ? 
"  La  belle  destinee,"  adds  Sainte-Beuve,  "  de 
ne  pouvoir  plus  mourir,  sinon  avec  un  im- 
mortel !  "  Apart  from  Mr.  Longfellow's  other 
titles  to  undying  fame,  such  a  destiny  is  surely 
marked  out  for  him,  and  throughout  the  Eng- 
lish portions  of  the  world  his  name  will  always 
be  associated  with  that  of  the  great  Florentine. 

June,  1867. 


346 


XII 
PAINE'S  "ST.   PETER" 

FOR  music-lovers  in  America  the  great 
event  of  the  season  has  been  the  per- 
formance of  Mr.  Paine's  oratorio,  "  St. 
Peter,"  at  Portland,  June  3.  This  event  is 
important,  not  only  as  the  first  appearance  of 
an  American  oratorio,  but  also  as  the  first 
direct  proof  we  have  had  of  the  existence  of 
creative  musical  genius  in  this  country.  For 
Mr.  Paine's  Mass  in  D  —  a  work  which  was 
brought  out  with  great  success  several  years 
ago  in  Berlin  —  has,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
never  been  performed  here.  And,  with  the 
exception  of  Mr.  Paine,  we  know  of  no  Ameri- 
can hitherto  who  has  shown  either  the  genius 
or  the  culture  requisite  for  writing  music  in 
the  grand  style,  although  there  is  some  of  the 
Kapellmeister  music,  written  by  our  leading 
organists  and  choristers,  which  deserves  hon- 
ourable mention.  Concerning  the  rank  likely 
to  be  assigned  by  posterity  to  "  St.  Peter,"  it 
would  be  foolish  now  to  speculate ;  and  it 
would  be  equally  unwise  to  bring  it  into  di- 
rect comparison  with  masterpieces  like  the 

347 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

"  Messiah,"  "  Elijah,"  and  "  St.  Paul,"  the 
greatness  of  which  has  been  so  long  acknow- 
ledged. Longer  familiarity  with  the  work  is 
needed  before  such  comparisons,  always  of 
somewhat  doubtful  value,  can  be  profitably 
undertaken.  But  it  must  at  least  be  said,  as 
the  net  result  of  our  impressions  derived  both 
from  previous  study  of  the  score  and  from 
hearing  the  performance  at  Portland,  that  Mr. 
Paine's  oratorio  has  fairly  earned  for  itself  the 
right  to  be  judged  by  the  same  high  standard 
which  we  apply  to  these  noble  works  of  Men- 
delssohn and  Handel. 

In  our  limited  space  we  can  give  only  the 
briefest  description  of  the  general  structure  of 
the  work.  The  founding  of  Christianity,  as 
illustrated  in  four  principal  scenes  of  the  life 
of  St.  Peter,  supplies  the  material  for  the  dra- 
matic development  of  the  subject.  The  over- 
ture, beginning  with  an  adagio  movement  in 
B-flat  minor,  gives  expression  to  the  vague 
yearnings  of  that  time  of  doubt  and  hesitancy 
when  the  "  oracles  were  dumb,"  and  the  dawn- 
ing of  a  new  era  of  stronger  and  diviner  faith 
was  matter  of  presentiment  rather  than  of  defi- 
nite hope  or  expectation.  Though  the  tonality 
is  at  first  firmly  established,  yet  as  the  move- 
ment becomes  more  agitated,  the  final  tendency 
of  the  modulations  also  becomes  uncertain,  and 
for  a  few  bars  it  would  seem  as  if  the  key  of 
348 


'John  Knowles  Paine 


cknc 
nger  fa;  ne  work 


iron, 
hear 


era  of  stronger  an< 
presen  timc< 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

F-sharp  minor  might  be  the  point  of  destina- 
tion. But  after  a  short  melody  by  the  wind 
instruments,  accompanied  by  a  rapid  upward 
movement  of  strings,  the  dominant  chord  of 
C  major  asserts  itself,  being  repeated,  with  sun- 
dry inversions,  through  a  dozen  bars,  and  lead- 
ing directly  into  the  triumphant  and  majestic 
chorus,  "  The  time  is  fulfilled,  and  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  at  hand."  The  second  sub- 
ject, introduced  by  the  word  "  repent "  de- 
scending through  the  interval  of  a  diminished 
seventh  and  contrasted  with  the  florid  counter- 
point of  the  phrase,  "  and  believe  the  glad  tid- 
ings of  God,"  is  a  masterpiece  of  contrapuntal 
writing,  and,  if  performed  by  a  choir  of  three  or 
four  hundred  voices,  would  produce  an  over- 
powering effect.  The  divine  call  of  Simon 
Peter  and  his  brethren  is  next  described  in  a 
tenor  recitative  ;  and  the  acceptance  of  the  glad 
tidings  is  expressed  in  an  aria,  "  The  spirit  of 
the  Lord  is  upon  me,"  which,  by  an  original 
but  appropriate  conception,  is  given  to  the 
soprano  voice.  In  the  next  number,  the  disci- 
ples are  dramatically  represented  by  twelve 
basses  and  tenors,  singing  in  four-part  har- 
mony, and  alternating  or  combining  with  the 
full  chorus  in  description  of  the  aims  of  the 
new  religion.  The  proem  ends  with  the  choral, 
"How  lovely  shines  the  Morning  Star!" 
Then  follows  the  sublime  scene  from  Matthew 

349 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

xvi.  14—18,  where  Peter  declares  his  Master  to 
be  "the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God,"  — 
one  of  the  most  impressive  scenes,  we  have 
always  thought,  in  the  gospel  history,  and  here 
not  inadequately  treated.  The  feeling  of  mys- 
terious and  awful  grandeur  awakened  by  Peter's 
bold  exclamation,  "  Thou  art  the  Christ,"  is 
powerfully  rendered  by  the  entrance  of  the 
trombones  upon  the  inverted  subdominant  triad 
of  C-sharp  minor,  and  their  pause  upon  the 
dominant  of  the  same  key.  Throughout  this 
scene  the  characteristic  contrast  between  the 
ardent  vigour  of  Peter  and  the  sweet  serenity 
of  Jesus  is  well  delineated  in  the  music.  After 
Peter's  stirring  aria,  "  My  heart  is  glad,"  the 
dramatic  climax  is  reached  in  the  C-major  cho- 
rus, "  The  Church  is  built  upon  the  foundation 
of  the  apostles  and  prophets." 

The  second  scene  is  carried  out  to  somewhat 
greater  length,  corresponding  nearly  to  the  last 
half  of  the  first  part  of"  Elijah,"  from  the  point 
where  the  challenge  is  given  to  the  prophets  of 
Baal.  In  the  opening  passages  of  mingled  reci- 
tative and  arioso,  Peter  is  forewarned  that  he 
shall  deny  his  Master,  and  his  half-indignant 
remonstrance  is  sustained,  with  added  emphasis, 
by  the  voices  of  the  twelve  disciples,  pitched  a 
fourth  higher.  Then  Judas  comes,  with  a  great 
multitude,  and  Jesus  is  carried  before  the  high- 
priest.  The  beautiful  F-minor  chorus,  "  We 

35° 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

hid  our  faces  from  him,"  furnishes  the  musical 
comment  upon  the  statement  that  "  the  disci- 
ples all  forsook  him.  and  fled."  We  hardly  dare 
to  give  full  expression  to  our  feelings  about  this 
chorus  (which  during  the  past  month  has  been 
continually  singing  itself  over  and  over  again 
in  our  recollection),  lest  it  should  be  supposed 
that  our  enthusiasm  has  got  the  better  of  our 
sober  judgment.  The  second  theme,  "  He  was 
brought  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter,  yet  he 
opened  not  his  mouth,"  is  quite  Handel-like  in 
the  simplicity  and  massiveness  of  its  magnificent 
harmonic  progressions.  With  the  scene  of  the 
denial,  for  which  we  are  thus  prepared,  the  dra- 
matic movement  becomes  exceedingly  rapid, 
and  the  rendering  of  the  events  in  the  high- 
priest's  hall  —  Peter's  bass  recitative  alternating 
its  craven  protestations  with  the  clamorous  agi- 
tato chorus  of  the  servants  —  is  stirring  in  the 
extreme.  The  contralto  aria  describing  the 
Lord's  turning  and  looking  upon  Peter  is  fol- 
lowed by  the  orchestra  with  a  lament  in  B-flat 
minor,  introducing  the  bass  aria  of  the  repent- 
ant and  remorse-stricken  disciple,  "  O  God,  my 
God,  forsake  me  not."  As  the  last  strains  of 
the  lamentation  die  away,  a  choir  of  angels 
is  heard,  of  sopranos  and  contraltos  divided, 
singing,  "  Remember  from  whence  thou  art 
fallen,"  to  an  accompaniment  of  harps.  The 
second  theme,  "  He  that  overcometh  shall  re- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ceive  a  crown  of  life,"  is  introduced  in  full 
chorus,  in  a  cheering  allegro  movement,  pre- 
paring the  way  for  a  climax  higher  than  any  yet 
reached  in  the  course  of  the  work.  This  climax 
—  delayed  for  a  few  moments  by  an  andante 
aria  for  a  contralto  voice,  "  The  Lord  is  faithful 
and  righteous  " —  at  last  bursts  upon  us  with 
a  superb  crescendo  of  strings,  and  the  words, 
"  Awake,  thou  that  sleepest,  arise  from  the 
dead,  and  Christ  shall  give  thee  light."  This 
chorus,  which  for  reasons  presently  to  be  given 
was  heard  at  considerable  disadvantage  at  Port- 
land, contains  some  of  the  best  fugue-writing  in 
the  work,  and  is  especially  rich  and  powerful 
in  its  instrumentation. 

The  second  part  of  the  oratorio  begins  with 
the  crucifixion  and  ascension  of  Jesus.  Here  we 
must  note  especially  the  deeply  pathetic  open- 
ing chorus,  "  The  Son  of  Man  was  delivered 
into  the  hands  of  sinful  men,"  the  joyous  alle- 
gro, "  And  on  the  third  day  he  rose  again,"  the 
choral,  "Jesus,  my  Redeemer,  lives,"  and  the 
quartet,  "  Feed  the  flock  of  God,"  comment- 
ing upon  the  command  of  Jesus,  "  Feed  my 
lambs."  This  quartet  has  all  the  heavenly 
sweetness  of  Handel's  "  He  shall  feed  his 
flock,"  which  it  suggests  by  similarity  of  sub- 
ject though  not  by  similarity  of  treatment ;  but 
in  a  certain  quality  of  inwardness,  or  religious 
meditativeness,  it  reminds  one  more  of  Mr. 

352 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

Paine's  favourite  master,  Bach.  The  choral,  like 
the  one  in  the  first  part  and  the  one  which  fol- 
lows the  scene  of  Pentecost,  is  taken  from  the 
Lutheran  Choral  Book,  and  arranged  with  origi- 
nal harmony  and  instrumentation,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  custom  of  Bach,  Mendelssohn, 
and  other  composers,  "  of  introducing  into  their 
sacred  compositions  the  old  popular  choral 
melodies  which  are  the  peculiar  offspring  of  a 
religious  age."  Thus  the  noblest  choral  ever 
written,  the  "  Sleepers,  wake,"  in  "  St.  Paul," 
was  composed  in  1604  by  Praetorius,  the  har- 
monization and  accompaniment  only  being  the 
work  of  Mendelssohn. 

In  "  St.  Peter,"  as  in  "  Elijah,"  the  second 
part,  while  forming  the  true  musical  climax  of 
the  oratorio,  admits  of  a  briefer  description  than 
the  first  part.  The  wave  of  emotion  answer- 
ing to  the  sensuously  dramatic  element  having 
partly  spent  itself,  the  wave  of  lyric  emotion 
gathers  fresh  strength,  and  one  feels  that  one 
has  reached  the  height  of  spiritual  exaltation, 
while,  nevertheless,  there  is  not  so  much  which 
one  can  describe  to  others  who  may  not  happen 
to  have  gone  through  with  the  same  experience. 
Something  of  the  same  feeling  one  gets  in 
studying  Dante's  "  Paradiso,"  after  finishing  the 
preceding  divisions  of  his  poem :  there  is  less 
which  can  be  pictured  to  the  .eye  of  sense,  or 
left  to  be  supplied  by  the  concrete  imagination. 

353 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Nevertheless,  in  the  scene  of  Pentecost,  which 
follows  that  of  the  Ascension,  there  is  no  lack 
of  dramatic  vividness.  Indeed,  there  is  nothing 
in  the  work  more  striking  than  the  orchestra- 
tion of  the  introductory  tenor  recitative,  the 
mysterious  chorus,  "The  voice  of  the  Lord 
divideth  the  flames  of  fire,"  or  the  amazed 
query  which  follows,  "  Behold,  are  not  all  these 
who  speak  Galileans?  and  how  is  it  that  we 
every  one  hear  them  in  our  own  tongue 
wherein  we  were  born  ? "  We  have  heard  the 
opinion  expressed  that  Mr.  Paine's  oratorio 
must  be  lacking  in  originality,  since  it  suggests 
such  strong  reminiscences  of"  St.  Paul."  Now, 
this  suggestion,  it  seems  to  us,  is  due  partly  to 
the  similarity  of  the  subjects,  independently  of 
any  likeness  in  the  modes  of  treatment,  and 
partly,  perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Paine,  as 
well  as  Mendelssohn,  has  been  a  devoted 
student  of  Bach,  whose  characteristics  are  so 
strong  that  they  may  well  have  left  their  mark 
upon  the  works  of  both  composers.  But  espe- 
cially it  would  seem  that  there  is  some  real 
though  very  general  resemblance  between  this 
colloquial  chorus,  "  Behold,"  etc.,  and  some 
choruses  in  <c  St.  Paul,"  as,  for  example,  Nos. 
29  and  36-38.  In  the  same  way  the  scene  in 
the  high-priest's  hall  might  distantly  suggest 
either  of  these  passages,  or  others  in  "Elijah." 
These  resemblances,  however,  are  very  super- 
354 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

ficial,  pertaining  not  to  the  musical  but  to  the 
dramatic  treatment  of  situations  which  are  ge- 
nerically  similar  in  so  far,  and  only  in  so  far,  as 
they  represent  conversational  passages  between 
an  apostle  or  prophet  and  an  ignorant  multi- 
tude, whether  amazed  or  hostile,  under  the 
sway  of  violent  excitement.  As  regards  the 
musical  elaboration  of  these  terse  and  striking 
alternations  of  chorus  and  recitative,  its  origi- 
nality can  be  questioned  only  after  we  have 
decided  to  refer  all  originality  on  such  matters 
to  Bach,  or,  indeed,  even  behind  him,  into  the 
Middle  Ages. 

After  the  preaching  of  Peter,  and  the  sweet 
contralto  aria,  "  As  for  man,  his  days  are  as 
grass,"  the  culmination  of  this  scene  comes  in 
the  D-major  chorus,  "  This  is  the  witness  of 
God."  What  follows,  beginning  with  the  choral, 
"  Praise  to  the  Father,"  is  to  be  regarded  as  an 
epilogue  or  peroration  to  the  whole  work.  It 
is  in  accordance  with  a  sound  tradition  that  the 
grand  sacred  drama  of  an  oratorio  should  con- 
clude with  a  lyric  outburst  of  thanksgiving,  a 
psalm  of  praise  to  the  Giver  of  every  good  and 
perfect  gift.  Thus,  after  Peter's  labours  are 
ended  in  the  aria,  "  Now  as  ye  were  redeemed," 
in  which  the  twelve  disciples  and  the  full  chorus 
join,  a  duet  for  tenor  and  soprano,  "  Sing  unto 
God,"  brings  us  to  the  grand  final  chorus  in  C 


355 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

major,  "  Great  and  marvellous  are  thy  works, 
Lord  God  Almighty." 

The  cadence  of  this  concluding  chorus  re- 
minds us  that  one  of  the  noteworthy  points  in 
the  oratorio  is  the  character  of  its  cadences.  The 
cadence  prepared  by  the  f  chord,  now  become 
so  hackneyed  from  its  perpetual  and  wearisome 
repetition  in  popular  church  music,  seems  to  be 
especially  disliked  by  Mr.  Paine,  as  it  occurs 
but  once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  the  work.  In 
the  great  choruses  the  cadence  is  usually  reached 
either  by  a  pedal  on  the  tonic,  as  in  the  chorus, 
"Awake,  thou  that  sleepest,"  or  by  a  pedal  on 
the  dominant  culminating  in  a  chord  of  the  ma- 
jor ninth,  as  in  the  final  chorus  ;  or  there  is  a 
plagal  cadence,  as  in  the  first  chorus  of  the  second 
part ;  or,  if  the  f  chord  is  introduced,  as  it  is  in 
the  chorus,  "  He  that  overcometh,"  its  ordinary 
effect  is  covered  and  obscured  by  the  movement 
of  the  divided  sopranos.  We  do  not  remember 
noticing  anywhere  such  a  decided  use  of  the  f 
chord  as  is  made,  for  example,  by  Mendelssohn, 
in  "  Thanks  be  to  God,"  or  in  the  final  chorus 
of  "  St.  Paul."  Perhaps  if  we  were  to  confess 
our  lingering  fondness  for  the  cadence  prepared 
by  the  f  chord,  when  not  too  frequently  intro- 
duced, it  might  only  show  that  we  retain  a 
liking  for  New  England  "  psalm-tunes  ; "  but  it 
does  seem  to  us  that  a  sense  of  final  repose,  of 
entire  cessation  of  movement,  is  more  effectually 

356 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

secured  by  this  cadence  than  by  any  other.  Yet 
while  the  f  cadence  most  completely  expresses 
finality  and  rest,  it  would  seem  that  the  plagal 
and  other  cadences  above  enumerated  as  pre- 
ferred by  Mr.  Paine  have  a  certain  sort  of  supe- 
riority by  reason  of  the  very  incompleteness 
with  which  they  express  finality.  There  is  no 
sense  of  finality  whatever  about  the  Phrygian 
cadence  ;  it  leaves  the  mind  occupied  with  the 
feeling  of  a  boundless  region  beyond,  into  which 
one  would  fain  penetrate  ;  and  for  this  reason 
it  has,  in  sacred  music,  a  great  value.  Some- 
thing of  the  same  feeling,  too,  attaches  to  those 
cadences  in  which  an  unexpected  major  third 
usurps  the  place  of  the  minor  which  the  ear  was 
expecting,  as  in  the  "  Incarnatus  "  of  Mozart's 
"  Twelfth  Mass,"  or  in  Bach's  sublime  "  Pre- 
lude," Part  I.,  No.  22  of  the  "Well-tempered 
Clavichord."  In  a  less  degree,  an  analogous 
effect  was  produced  upon  us  by  the  cadence  with 
a  pedal  on  the  tonic  in  the  choruses,  "  The 
Church  is  built,"  and  "  Awake,  thou  that  sleep- 
est."  On  these  considerations  it  may  become 
intelligible  that  to  some  hearers  Mr.  Paine's 
cadences  have  seemed  unsatisfactory,  their  ears 
having  missed  the  positive  categorical  assertion 
of  finality  which  the  f  cadence  alone  can  give. 
To  go  further  into  this  subject  would  take  us 
far  beyond  our  limits. 

The    pleasant   little  town    of  Portland  has 
357 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

reason  to  congratulate  itself,  first,  on  being  the 
birthplace  of  such  a  composer  as  Mr.  Paine; 
secondly,  on  having  been  the  place  where  the 
first  great  work  of  America  in  the  domain  of 
music  was  brought  out ;  and  thirdly,  on  pos- 
sessing what  is  probably  the  most  thoroughly 
disciplined  choral  society  in  this  country.  Our 
New  York  friends,  after  their  recent  experiences, 
will  perhaps  be  slow  to  believe  us  when  we  say 
that  the  Portland  choir  sang  this  new  work  even 
better,  in  many  respects,  than  the  Handel  and 
Haydn  Society  sing  the  old  and  familiar  "  Eli- 
jah ;  "  but  it  is  true.  In  their  command  of  the 
pianissimo  and  the  gradual  crescendo,  and  in 
the  precision  of  their  attack,  the  Portland  singers 
can  easily  teach  the  Handel  and  Haydn  a  quar- 
ter's lessons.  And,  besides  all  this,  they  know 
how  to  preserve  their  equanimity  under  the 
gravest  persecutions  of  the  orchestra ;  keeping 
the  even  tenor  of  their  way  where  a  less  dis- 
ciplined choir,  incited  by  the  excessive  blare  of 
the  trombones  and  the  undue  scraping  of  the 
second  violins,  would  be  likely  to  lose  its  pre- 
sence of  mind  and  break  out  into  an  untimely 
fortissimo. 

No  doubt  it  is  easier  to  achieve  perfect  chorus- 
singing  with  a  choir  of  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  voices  than  with  a  choir  of  six  hundred. 
But  this  diminutive  size,  which  was  an  advantage 
so  far  as  concerned  the  technical  excellence  of 

358 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

the  Portland  choir,  was  decidedly  a  disadvantage 
so  far  as  concerned  the  proper  rendering  of  the 
more  massive  choruses  in  "  St.  Peter."  All  the 
greatest  choruses  —  such  as  Nos.  i,  8,  19,  20, 
28,  35,  and  39 — were  seriously  impaired  in 
the  rendering  by  the  lack  of  massiveness  in  the 
voices.  For  example,  the  grand  chorus, "  Awake, 
thou  that  sleepest,"  begins  with  a  rapid  crescendo 
of  strings,  introducing  the  full  chorus  on  the 
word  "  Awake,"  upon  the  dominant  triad  of  D 
major ;  and  after  a  couple  of  beats  the  voices 
are  reinforced  by  the  trombones,  producing  the 
most  tremendous  effect  possible  in  such  a  cres- 
cendo. Unfortunately,  however,  the  brass  as- 
serted itself  at  this  point  so  much  more  emphat- 
ically than  the  voices  that  the  effect  was  almost 
to  disjoin  the  latter  portion  of  the  chord  from 
its  beginning,  and  thus  to  dwar/  the  utterance 
of  the  word  "  Awake."  To  us  this  effect  was 
very  disagreeable  ;  and  it  was  obviously  contrary 
to  the  effect  intended  by  the  composer.  But 
with  a  weight  of  four  or  five  hundred  voices, 
the  effect  would  be  entirely  different.  Instead 
of  entering  upon  the  scene  as  intruders,  the 
mighty  trombones  would  only  serve  to  swell 
and  enrich  the  ponderous  chord  which  opens 
this  noble  chorus.  Given  greater  weight  only, 
and  the  performance  of  the  admirable  Portland 
choir  would  have  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
We  cannot  speak  with  so  much  satisfaction 

359 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  the  performance  of  the  orchestra.  The  in- 
strumentation of  "  St.  Peter  "  is  remarkably 
fine.  But  this  instrumentation  was  rather  clum- 
sily rendered  by  the  orchestra,  whose  doings 
constituted  the  least  enjoyable  part  of  the  per- 
formance. There  was  too  much  blare  of  brass, 
whine  of  hautboy,  and  scraping  of  strings.  But 
in  condonation  of  this  serious  defect,  one  must 
admit  that  the  requisite  amount  of  rehearsal  is 
out  of  the  question  when  one's  choir  is  in  Port- 
land and  one's  orchestra  in  Boston  ;  besides 
which  the  parts  had  been  inaccurately  copied. 
For  a  moment,  at  the  beginning  of  the  orches- 
tral lament,  there  was  risk  of  disaster,  the  wind 
instruments  failing  to  come  in  at  the  right  time, 
when  Mr.  Paine,  with  fortunate  presence  of 
mind,  stopped  the  players,  and  the  movement 
was  begun  over  again,  —  the  whole  occurring  so 
quickly  and  quietly  as  hardly  to  attract  atten- 
tion. 

In  conclusion  we  would  say  a  few  words  sug- 
gested by  a  recent  critical  notice  of  Mr.  Paine's 
work  in  the  "  Nation."  While  acknowledging 
the  importance  of  the  publication  of  this  ora- 
torio, as  an  event  in  the  art-history  of  America, 
the  writer  betrays  manifest  disappointment  that 
this  work  should  not  rather  have  been  a  sym- 
phony,1 and  thus  have  belonged  to  what  he  calls 

1  Now  within  two  years,  Mr.  Paine's  C-minor  symphony 
has  followed  the  completion  of  his  oratorio. 
360 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

the  "  domain  of  absolute  music."  Now  with  re- 
gard to  the  assumption  that  the  oratorio  is  not 
so  high  a  form  of  music  as  the  symphony,  or,  in 
other  words,  that  vocal  music  in  general  is  artis- 
tically inferior  to  instrumental  music,  we  may 
observe,  first,  that  Ambros  and  Dommer  —  two 
of  the  most  profound  musical  critics  now  living 
—  do  not  sustain  it.  It  is  Beauquier,  we  think, 
who  suggests  that  instrumental  music  should 
rank  above  vocal,  because  it  is  "  pure  music," 
bereft  of  the  factitious  aids  of  language  and  of 
the  emotional  associations  which  are  grouped 
about  the  peculiar  timbre  of  the  human  voice.1 
At  first  the  suggestion  seems  plausible ;  but  on 
analogous  grounds  we  might  set  the  piano  above 
the  orchestra,  because  the  piano  gives  us  pure 
harmony  and  counterpoint,  without  the  ad- 
ventitious aid  of  variety  in  timbre.  And  it  is 
indeed  true  that,  for  some  such  reason  as  this, 
musicians  delight  in  piano-sonatas,  which  are 
above  all  things  tedious  and  unintelligible  to 
the  mind  untrained  in  music.  Nevertheless,  in 
spite  of  its  great  and  peculiar  prerogatives,  it 
would  be  absurd  to  prefer  the  piano  to  the  or- 
chestra; and  there  is  a  kindred  absurdity  in- 
volved in  setting  the  orchestra  above  that  mighty 

1  These  peculiar  associations  are  no  doubt  what  is  chiefly 
enjoyed  in  music,  antecedent  to  a  properly  musical  culture. 
Persons  of  slight  acquaintance  with  music  invariably  prefer  the 
voice  to  the  piano. 

361 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

union  of  orchestra,  organ,  and  voices  which  we 
get  in  the  oratorio.  When  the  reason  alleged 
for  ranking  the  symphony  above  the  oratorio 
leads  us  likewise  to  rank  the  sonata  above  the 
symphony,  we  seem  to  have  reached  a  reductio 
ad  absurdum. 

Rightly  considered,  the  question  between  vo- 
cal and  instrumental  music  amounts  to  this, 
What  does  music  express  ?  This  is  a  great  psy- 
chological question,  and  we  have  not  now  the 
space  or  the  leisure  requisite  for  discussing  it, 
even  in  the  most  summary  way.  We  will  say, 
however,  that  we  do  not  see  how  music  can  in 
any  way  express  ideas,  or  anything  but  moods 
or  emotional  states  to  which  the  ideas  given  in 
language  may  add  determination  and  precision. 
The  pure  symphony  gives  utterance  to  moods, 
and  will  be  a  satisfactory  work  of  art  or  not,  ac- 
cording as  the  composer  has  been  actuated  by 
a  legitimate  sequence  of  emotional  states,  like 
Beethoven,  or  by  a  desire  to  produce  novel  and 
startling  effects,  like  Liszt.  But  the  danger  in 
purely  instrumental  music  is  that  it  may  run 
riot  in  the  extravagant  utterance  of  emotional 
states  which  are  not  properly  concatenated  by 
any  normal  sequence  of  ideas  associated  with 
them.  This  is  sometimes  exemplified  in  the 
most  modern  instrumental  music. 

Now,  as  in  real  life  our  sequent  clusters  of 
emotional  states  are  in  general  determined  by 
362 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

their  association  with  our  sequent  groups  of 
intellectual  ideas,  it  would  seem  that  music,  re- 
garded as  an  exponent  of  psychical  life,  reaches 
its  fullest  expressiveness  when  the  sequence  of 
the  moods  which  it  incarnates  in  sound  is  deter- 
mined by  some  sequence  of  ideas,  such  as  is 
furnished  by  the  words  of  a  libretto.  Not  that 
the  words  should  have  predominance  over  the 
music,  or  even  coequal  sway  with  it,  but  that 
they  should  serve  to  give  direction  to  the  suc- 
cession of  feelings  expressed  by  the  music. 
"  Lift  up  your  heads"  and  "Hallelujah"  do 
not  owe  their  glory  to  the  text,  but  to  that  tre- 
mendous energy  of  rhythmic  and  contrapuntal 
progression  which  the  text  serves  to  concentrate 
and  justify.  When  precision  and  definiteness 
of  direction  are  thus  added  to  the  powerful  phy- 
sical means  of  expression  which  we  get  in  the 
combination  of  chorus,  orchestra,  and  organ,  we 
have  attained  the  greatest  sureness  as  well  as 
the  greatest  wealth  of  musical  expressiveness. 
And  thus  we  may  see  the  reasonableness  of 
Dommer's  opinion  that  in  order  to  restrain  in- 
strumental music  from  ruining  itself  by  mean- 
ingless extravagance,  it  is  desirable  that  there 
should  be  a  renaissance  of  vocal  music,  such  as 
it  was  in  the  golden  age  of  Palestrina  and  Or- 
lando Lasso. 

We  are  not  inclined  to  deny  that  in  struc- 
tural beauty  —  in  the  symmetrical  disposition 

363 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

and  elaboration  of  musical  themes  —  the  sym- 
phony has  the  advantage.  The  words,  which  in 
the  oratorio  serve  to  give  definite  direction  to  the 
currents  of  emotion,  may  also  sometimes  ham- 
per the  free  development  of  the  pure  musical 
conception,  just  as  in  psychical  life  the  obtru- 
sive entrance  of  ideas  linked  by  association  may 
hinder  the  full  fruition  of  some  emotional  state. 
Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  this  possible  drawback, 
it  may  be  doubted  if  the  higher  forms  of  poly- 
phonic composition  fall  so  very  far  short  of  the 
symphony  in  capability  of  giving  full  elabora- 
tion to  the  musical  idea.  The  practical  testi- 
mony of  Beethoven,  in  his  Ninth  Symphony,  is 
decidedly  adverse  to  any  such  supposition. 

But  to  pursue  this  interesting  question  would 
carry  us  far  beyond  our  limits.  Whatever  may 
be  the  decision  as  to  the  respective  claims  of 
vocal  and  instrumental  music,  we  have  every 
reason  for  welcoming  the  appearance,  in  our 
own  country,  of  an  original  work  in  the  highest 
form  of  vocal  music.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  we 
shall  often  have  the  opportunity  to  "  hear  with 
our  ears  "  this  interesting  work ;  for  as  a  rule 
great  musical  compositions  are  peculiarly  un- 
fortunate among  works  of  art,  in  being  known 
at  first  hand  by  comparatively  few  persons.  In 
this  way  is  rendered  possible  that  pretentious 
kind  of  dilettante  criticism  which  is  so  common 
in  musical  matters,  and  which  is  often  positively 
364 


PAINE'S  "ST.  PETER" 

injurious,  as  substituting  a  factitious  public 
opinion  for  one  that  is  genuine.  We  hope  that 
the  favour  with  which  the  new  oratorio  has 
already  been  received  will  encourage  the  author 
to  pursue  the  enviable  career  upon  which  he 
has  entered.  Even  restricting  ourselves  to 
vocal  music,  there  is  still  a  broad  field  left  open 
for  original  work.  The  secular  cantata  —  at- 
tempted in  recent  times  by  Schumann,  as  well  as 
by  English  composers  of  smaller  calibre  —  is  a 
very  high  form  of  vocal  music  ;  and  if  founded 
on  an  adequate  libretto,  dealing  with  some 
supremely  grand  or  tragical  situation,  is  capable 
of  being  carried  to  an  unprecedented  height  of 
musical  elaboration.  Here  is  an  opportunity 
for  original  achievement,  of  which  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  some  gifted  and  well-trained  com- 
poser, like  the  author  of  "  St.  Peter,"  may  find 
it  worth  while  to  avail  himself. 

June,  1873. 


365 


XIII 
A   PHILOSOPHY   OF   ART1 

WE  are  glad  of  a  chance  to  introduce 
to  our  readers  one  of  the  works  of 
a  great  writer.     Though    not   yet2 
widely  known  in  this  country,   M.  Taine  has 
obtained  a  very  high  reputation  in  Europe.    He 
is  still  quite  a  young  man,  but  is   nevertheless 
the  author  of  nineteen  goodly  volumes,  witty, 
acute,    and  learned  ;  and  already  he    is  often 
ranked  with  Renan,  Littre,  and   Sainte-Beuve, 
the  greatest  living  French  writers. 

Hippolyte  Adolphe  Taine  was  born  at  Vou- 
ziers,  among  the  grand  forests  of  Ardennes,  in 
1828,  and  is  therefore  about  forty  years  old. 
His  family  was  simple  in  habits  and  tastes,  and 
entertained  a  steadfast  belief  in  culture,  along 
with  the  possession  of  a  fair  amount  of  it.  His 
grandfather  was  sub-prefect  at  Rocroi,  in  1814 
and  1815,  under  the  first  restoration  of  the 
Bourbons.  His  father,  a  lawyer  by  profession, 
was  the  first  instructor  of  his  son,  and  taught 

1  The  Philosophy  of  Art.     By  H.  Taine.     New  York  : 
Leypoldt  &  Holt.     1867. 

2  That  is,  in  1868. 

366 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

him  Latin,  and  from  an  uncle,  who  had  been 
in  America,  he  learned  English,  while  still  a 
mere  child.  Having  gone  to  Paris  with  his 
mother  in  1842,  he  began  his  studies  at  the 
College  Bourbon  and  in  1 848  was  promoted  to 
the  Ecole  Normale.  Weiss,  About,  and  Pre- 
vost-Paradol  were  his  contemporaries  at  this 
institution.  At  that  time  great  liberty  was  en- 
joyed in  regard  to  the  order  and  the  details 
of  the  exercises ;  so  that  Taine,  with  his  sur- 
prising rapidity,  would  do  in  one  week  the 
work  laid  out  for  a  month,  and  would  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  time  in  private  reading. 
In  1851  he  left  college,  and  after  two  or  three 
unsatisfactory  attempts  at  teaching,  in  Paris  and 
in  the  provinces,  he  settled  down  at  Paris  as  a 
private  student.  He  gave  himself  the  very  best 
elementary  preparation  which  a  literary  man  can 
have,  —  a  thorough  course  in  mathematics  and 
the  physical  sciences.  His  studies  in  anatomy 
and  physiology  were  especially  elaborate  and 
minute.  He  attended  the  School  of  Medicine 
as  regularly  as  if  he  expected  to  make  his  daily 
bread  in  the  profession.  In  this  way,  when  at 
the  age  of  twenty-five  he  began  to  write  books, 
M.  Taine  was  a  really  educated  man;  and  his 
books  show  it.  The  day  is  past  when  a  man 
could  write  securely,  with  a  knowledge  of  the 
classics  alone.  We  doubt  if  a  philosophical 
critic  is  perfectly  educated  for  his  task,  unless 
367 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

he  can  read,  for  instance,  Donaldson's  "  New 
Cratylus  "  on  the  one  hand,  and  Rokitansky's 
"  Pathological  Anatomy  "  on  the  other,  for  the 
sheer  pleasure  of  the  thing.  At  any  rate,  it  was 
an  education  of  this  sort  which  M.  Taine,  at 
the  outset  of  his  literary  career,  had  secured. 
By  this  solid  discipline  of  mathematics,  chem- 
istry, and  medicine,  M.  Taine  became  that 
which  above  all  things  he  now  is,  —  a  man 
possessed  of  a  central  philosophy,  of  an  exact, 
categorical,  well-defined  system,  which  accom- 
panies and  supports  him  in  his  most  distant 
literary  excursions.  He  does  not  keep  throw- 
ing out  ideas  at  random,  like  too  many  literary 
critics,  but  attaches  all  his  criticisms  to  a  com- 
mon fundamental  principle ;  in  short,  he  is  not 
a  dilettante,  but  a  savant. 

His  treatise  on  La  Fontaine,  in  1853,  at- 
tracted much  attention,  both  the  style  and  the 
matter  being  singularly  fresh  and  original.  He 
has  since  republished  it  with  alterations  which 
serve  to  show  that  he  can  be  docile  toward  in- 
telligent criticisms.  About  the  same  time  he 
prepared  for  the  French  Academy  his  work 
upon  the  historian  Livy,  which  was  crowned  in 
1855.  Suffering  then  from  overwork,  he  was 
obliged  to  make  a  short  journey  to  the  Pyre- 
nees, which  he  has  since  described  in  a  charm- 
ing little  volume,  illustrated  by  Dore. 

His  subsequent  works  are  a  treatise  on  the 
368 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

French  philosophers  of  the  present  century,  in 
which  the  vapid  charlatanism  of  M.  Cousin  is 
satisfactorily  dealt  with ;  a  history  of  English 
literature  in  five  volumes  ;  a  humorous  book 
on  Paris ;  three  volumes  upon  the  general  the- 
ory of  art ;  and  two  volumes  of  travels  in  Italy  ; 
besides  a  considerable  collection  of  historical 
and  critical  essays.  We  think  that  several  of 
these  works  would  be  interesting  to  the  Amer- 
ican public,  and  might  profitably  be  translated. 

Some  three  or  four  years  ago,  M.  Taine  was 
appointed  Professor  in  the  Ecole  des  Beaux 
Arts,  and  we  suppose  his  journey  to  Italy  must 
have  been  undertaken  partly  with  a  view  to 
qualify  himself  for  his  new  position.  He  vis- 
ited the  four  cities  which  may  be  considered 
the  artistic  centres  of  Italy, —  Rome,  Naples, 
Florence,  and  Venice,  —  and  a  large  part  of  his 
account  of  his  journey  is  taken  up  with  descrip- 
tions and  criticisms  of  pictures,  statues,  and 
buildings. 

This  is  a  department  of  criticism  which,  we 
may  as  well  frankly  acknowledge,  is  far  better 
appreciated  on  the  continent  of  Europe  than  in 
England  or  America.  Over  the  English  race 
there  passed,  about  two  centuries  ago,  a  deluge 
of  Puritanism,  which  for  a  time  almost  drowned 
out  its  artistic  tastes  and  propensities.  The 
Puritan  movement,  in  proportion  to  its  success, 
was  nearly  as  destructive  to  art  in  the  West,  as 
369 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Mohammedanism  had  long  before  been  in  the 
East.  In  its  intense  and  one-sided  regard  for 
morality,  Puritanism  not  only  relegated  the  love 
for  beauty  to  an  inferior  place,  but  contemned 
and  spat  upon  it,  as  something  sinful  and  de- 
grading. Hence,  the  utter  architectural  impo- 
tence which  characterizes  the  Americans  and  the 
modern  English  ;  and  hence  the  bewildered  ig- 
norant way  in  which  we  ordinarily  contemplate 
pictures  and  statues.  For  two  centuries  we  have 
been  removed  from  an  artistic  environment,  and 
consequently  can  with  difficulty  enter  into  the 
feelings  of  those  who  have  all  this  time  been 
nurtured  in  love  for  art,  and  belief  in  art  for  its 
own  sake.  These  peculiarities,  as  Mr.  Mill  has 
ably  pointed  out,  have  entered  deep  into  our 
ethnic  character.  Even  in  pure  morals  there  is 
a  radical  difference  between  the  Englishman 
and  the  inhabitant  of  the  continent  of  Europe. 
The  Englishman  follows  virtue  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  the  Frenchman  from  an  emotional  aspi- 
ration toward  the  beautiful.  The  one  admires 
a  noble  action  because  it  is  right,  the  other  be- 
cause it  is  attractive.  And  this  difference  under- 
lies the  moral  judgments  upon  men  and  events 
which  are  to  be  found  respectively  in  English 
and  in  continental  literature.  By  keeping  it 
constantly  in  view,  we  shall  be  enabled  to  un- 
derstand many  things  which  might  otherwise 
surprise  us  in  the  writings  of  French  authors. 

370 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

We  are  now  slowly  outgrowing  the  extra- 
vagances of  Puritanism.  It  has  given  us  an 
earnestness  and  sobriety  of  character,  to  which 
much  of  our  real  greatness  is  owing,  both  here 
and  in  the  mother  country.  It  has  made  us 
stronger  and  steadier,  but  it  has  at  the  same 
time  narrowed  us  in  many  respects,  and  ren- 
dered our  lives  incomplete.  This  incomplete- 
ness, entailed  by  Puritanism,  we  are  gradually 
getting  rid  of;  and  we  are  learning  to  admire 
and  respect  many  things  upon  which  Puritan- 
ism set  its  mark  of  contempt.  We  are  begin- 
ning, for  instance,  to  recognize  the  transcend- 
ent merits  of  that  great  civilizing  agency,  the 
drama;  we  no  longer  think  it  necessary  that 
our  temples  for  worshipping  God  should  be 
constructed  like  hideous  barracks ;  we  are 
gradually  permitting  our  choirs  to  discard  the 
droning  and  sentimental  modern  "  psalm-tune  " 
for  the  inspiring  harmonies  of  Beethoven  and 
Mozart ;  and  we  admit  the  classical  picture  and 
the  undraped  statue  to  a  high  place  in  our 
esteem.  Yet  with  all  this  it  will  probably  be 
some  time  before  genuine  art  ceases  to  be  an 
exotic  among  us,  and  becomes  a  plant  of  un- 
hindered native  growth.  It  will  be  some  time 
before  we  cease  to  regard  pictures  and  statues 
as  a  higher  species  of  upholstery,  and  place 
them  in  the  same  category  with  poems  and 
dramas,  duly  reverencing  them  as  authentic 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

revelations  of  the  beauty  which  is  to  be  found 
in  nature.  It  will  be  some  time  before  we 
realize  that  art  is  a  thing  to  be  studied,  as  well 
as  literature,  and  Before  we  can  be  quite  re- 
conciled to  the  familiar  way  in  which  a  French- 
man quotes  a  picture  as  we  would  quote  a 
poem  or  novel. 

Artistic  genius,  as  M.  Taine  has  shown,  is 
something  which  will  develop  itself  only  under 
peculiar  social  circumstances ;  and,  therefore, 
if  we  have  not  art,  we  can  perhaps  only  wait 
for  it,  trusting  that  when  the  time  comes  it  will 
arise  among  us.  But  without  originating,  we 
may  at  least  intelligently  appreciate.  The  na- 
ture of  a  work  of  art,  and  the  mode  in  which 
it  is  produced,  are  subjects  well  worthy  of 
careful  study.  Architecture  and  music,  poetry, 
painting  and  sculpture,  have  in  times  past 
constituted  a  vast  portion  of  human  activity ; 
and  without  knowing  something  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  art,  we  need  not  hope  to  understand 
thoroughly  the  philosophy  of  history. 

In  entering  upon  the  study  of  art  in  gen- 
eral, one  may  find  many  suggestive  hints  in 
the  little  books  of  M.  Taine,  reprinted  from 
the  lectures  which  he  has  been  delivering  at 
the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts.  The  first,  on  the 
Philosophy  of  Art,  designated  at  the  head  of 
this  paper,  is  already  accessible  to  the  Ameri- 
can reader ;  and  translations  of  the  others  are 
372 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

probably  soon  to  follow.  We  shall  for  the 
present  give  a  mere  synopsis  of  M.  Taine's 
general  views. 

And  first  it  must  be  determined  what  a  work 
of  art  is.  Leaving  for  a  while  music  and  ar- 
chitecture out  of  consideration,  it  will  be  ad- 
mitted that  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture 
have  one  obvious  character  in  common :  they 
are  arts  of  imitation.  This,  says  Taine,  appears 
at  first  sight  to  be  their  essential  character.  It 
would  appear  that  their  great  object  is  to 
imitate  as  closely  as  possible.  It  is  obvious 
that  a  statue  is  intended  to  imitate  a  living 
man,  that  a  picture  is  designed  to  represent 
real  persons  in  real  attitudes,  or  the  interior 
of  a  house,  or  a  landscape,  such  as  it  exists  in 
nature.  And  it  is  no  less  clear  that  a  novel  or 
drama  endeavours  to  represent  with  accuracy 
real  characters,  actions,  and  words,  giving  as 
precise  and  faithful  an  image  of  them  as  pos- 
sible. And  when  the  imitation  is  incomplete, 
we  say  to  the  painter,  "  Your  people  are  too 
largely  proportioned,  and  the  colour  of  your 
trees  is  false;"  we  tell  the  sculptor  that  his 
leg  or  arm  is  incorrectly  modelled  ;  and  we 
say  to  the  dramatist,  "  Never  has  a  man  felt  or 
thought  as  your  hero  is  supposed  to  have  felt 
and  thought." 

This  truth,  moreover,  is  seen  both  in  the 
careers  of  individual  artists,  and  in  the  gen- 

373 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

eral  history  of  art.  According  to  Taine,  the 
life  of  an  artist  may  generally  be  divided  into 
two  parts.  In  the  first  period,  that  of  natural 
growth,  he  studies  nature  anxiously  and  mi- 
nutely, he  keeps  the  objects  themselves  before 
his  eyes,  and  strives  to  represent  them  with 
scrupulous  fidelity.  But  when  the  time  for 
mental  growth  ends,  as  it  does  with  every 
man,  and  the  crystallization  of  ideas  and  im- 
pressions commences,  then  the  mind  of  the 
artist  is  no  longer  so  susceptible  to  new  im- 
pressions from  without.  He  begins  to  nourish 
himself  from  his  own  substance.  He  abandons 
the  living  model,  and  with  recipes  which  he 
has  gathered  in  the  course  of  his  experience, 
he  proceeds  to  construct  a  drama  or  novel,  a 
picture  or  statue.  Now,  the  first  period,  says 
Taine,  is  that  of  genuine  art ;  the  second  is 
that  of  mannerism.  Our  author  cites  the  case 
of  Michael  Angelo,  a  man  who  was  one  of 
the  most  colossal  embodiments  of  physical  and 
mental  energy  that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
In  Michael  Angelo's  case,  the  period  of 
growth,  of  genuine  art,  may  be  said  to  have 
lasted  until  after  his  sixtieth  year.  But  look, 
says  Taine,  at  the  works  which  he  executed 
in  his  old  age  ;  consider  the  Conversion  of  St. 
Paul,  and  the  Last  Judgment,  painted  when 
he  was  nearly  seventy.  Even  those  who  are 
not  connoisseurs  can  see  that  these  frescoes  are 
374 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

painted  by  rule,  that  the  artist,  having  stocked 
his  memory  with  a  certain  set  of  forms,  is 
making  use  of  them  to  fill  out  his  tableau  ; 
that  he  wantonly  multiplies  queer  attitudes 
and  ingenious  foreshortenings ;  that  the  lively 
invention,  the  grand  outburst  of  feeling,  the 
perfect  truth,  by  which  his  earlier  works  are 
distinguished,  have  disappeared ;  and  that,  if 
he  is  still  superior  to  all  others,  he  is  neverthe- 
less inferior  to  himself.  The  careers  of  Scott, 
of  Goethe,  and  of  Voltaire  will  furnish  parallel 
examples.  In  every  school  of  art,  too,  the 
flourishing  period  is  followed  by  one  of  de- 
cline ;  and  in  every  case  the  decline  is  due  to  a 
failure  to  imitate  the  living  models.  In  paint- 
ing, we  have  the  exaggerated  foreshorteners  and 
muscle-makers  who  copied  Michael  Angelo ; 
the  lovers  of  theatrical  decorations  who  suc- 
ceeded Titian  and  Giorgione,  and  the  degen- 
erate boudoir-painters  who  followed  Claude  and 
Poussin.  In  literature,  we  have  the  versifiers, 
epigrammatists,  and  rhetors  of  the  Latin  deca- 
dence ;  the  sensual  and  declamatory  drama- 
tists who  represent  the  last  stages  of  old  Eng- 
lish comedy  ;  and  the  makers  of  sonnets  and 
madrigals,  or  conceited  euphemists  of  the  Gon- 
gora  school,  in  the  decline  of  Italian  and 
Spanish  poetry.  Briefly  it  may  be  said,  that 
the  masters  copy  nature  and  the  pupils  copy 
the  masters.  In  this  way  are  explained  the 

375 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

constantly  recurring  phenomena  of  decline  in 
art,  and  thus,  also,  it  is  seen  that  art  is  perfect 
in  proportion  as  it  successfully  imitates  nature. 
But  we  are  not  to  conclude  that  absolute 
imitation  is  the  sole  and  entire  object  of  art. 
Were  this  the  case,  the  finest  works  would  be 
those  which  most  minutely  correspond  to  their 
external  prototypes.  In  sculpture,  a  mould 
taken  from  the  living  features  is  that  which 
gives  the  most  faithful  representation  of  the 
model ;  but  a  well-moulded  bust  is  far  from 
being  equal  to  a  good  statue.  Photography  is 
in  many  respects  more  accurate  than  painting; 
but  no  one  would  rank  a  photograph,  however 
exquisitely  executed,  with  an  original  picture. 
And  finally,  if  exact  imitation  were  the  supreme 
object  of  art,  the  best  tragedy,  the  best  comedy, 
and  the  best  drama  would  be  a  stenographic 
report  of  the  proceedings  in  a  court  of  justice, 
in  a  family  gathering,  in  a  popular  meeting,  in 
the  Rump  Congress.  Even  the  works  of  artists 
are  not  rated  in  proportion  to  their  minute 
exactness.  Neither  in  painting  nor  in  any  other 
art  do  we  give  the  precedence  to  that  which 
deceives  the  eye  simply.  Everyone  remembers 
how  Zeuxis  was  said  to  have  painted  grapes  so 
faithfully  that  the  birds  came  and  pecked  at 
them  ;  and  how  Parrhasios,  his  rival,  surpassed 
even  this  feat  by  painting  a  curtain  so  natural 
in  its  appearance  that  Zeuxis  asked  him  to  pull 
376 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

it  aside  and  show  the  picture  behind  it.  All 
this  is  not  art,  but  mere  knack  and  trickery. 
Perhaps  no  painter  was  ever  so  minute  as  Den- 
ner.  It  used  to  take  him  four  years  to  make 
one  portrait.  He  would  omit  nothing,  —  nei- 
ther the  bluish  lines  made  by  the  veins  under 
the  skin,  nor  the  little  black  points  scattered 
over  the  nose,  nor  the  bright  spots  in  the  eye 
where  neighbouring  objects  are  reflected  ;  the 
head  seems  to  start  out  from  the  canvas,  it  is 
so  like  flesh  and  blood.  Yet  who  cares  for 
Denner's  portraits  ?  And  who  would  not  give 
ten  times  as  much  for  one  which  Van  Dyck  or 
Tintoretto  might  have  painted  in  a  few  hours  ? 
So  in  the  churches  of  Naples  and  Spain  we  find 
statues  coloured  and  draped,  saints  clothed  in 
real  coats,  with  their  skin  yellow  and  bloodless, 
their  hands  bleeding,  and  their  feet  bruised; 
and  beside  them  Madonnas  in  royal  habili- 
ments, in  gala  dresses  of  lustrous  silk,  adorned 
with  diadems,  precious  necklaces,  bright  rib- 
bons, and  elegant  laces,  with  their  cheeks  rosy, 
their  eyes  brilliant,  their  eyelashes  sweeping. 
And  by  this  excess  of  literal  imitation,  there  is 
awakened  a  feeling,  not  of  pleasure,  but  always 
of  repugnance,  often  of  disgust,  and  sometimes 
of  horror.  So  in  literature,  the  ancient  Greek 
theatre  and  the  best  Spanish  and  English  dra- 
matists alter  on  purpose  the  natural  current  of 
human  speech,  and  make  their  characters  talk 
377 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

under  all  the  restraints  of  rhyme  and  rhythm. 
But  we  pronounce  this  departure  from  literal 
truth  a  merit  and  not  a  defect.  We  consider 
Goethe's  second  "  Iphigenie,"  written  in  verse, 
far  preferable  to  the  first  one  written  in  prose ; 
nay,  it  is  the  rhythm  or  metre  itself  which  com- 
municates to  the  work  its  incomparable  beauty. 
In  a  review  of  Longfellow's  "  Dante,"  pub- 
lished last  year,  we  argued  this  very  point  in 
one  of  its  special  applications  ;  the  artist  must 
copy  his  original,  but  he  must  not  copy  it  too 
literally. 

What  then  must  he  copy  ?  He  must  copy, 
says  Taine,  the  mutual  relations  and  interde- 
pendences of  the  parts  of  his  model.  And  more 
than  this,  he  must  render  the  essential  charac- 
teristic of  the  object  —  that  characteristic  upon 
which  all  the  minor  qualities  depend  —  as  sali- 
ent and  conspicuous  as  possible.  He  must  put 
into  the  background  the  traits  which  conceal  it, 
and  bring  into  the  foreground  the  traits  which 
manifest  it.  If  he  is  sculpturing  a  group  like 
the  Laocoon,  he  must  strike  upon  the  supreme 
moment,  that  in  which  the  whole  tragedy  re- 
veals itself,  and  he  must  pass  over  those  insig- 
nificant details  of  position  and  movement  which 
serve  only  to  distract  our  attention  and  weaken 
our  emotions  by  dividing  them.  If  he  is  writ- 
ing a  drama,  he  must  not  attempt  to  give  us 
the  complete  biography  of  his  character;  he 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

must  depict  only  those  situations  which  stand 
in  direct  subordination  to  the  grand  climax  or 
denouement.  As  a  final  result,  therefore,  Taine 
concludes  that  a  work  of  art  is  a  concrete  repre- 
sentation of  the  relations  existing  between  the 
parts  of  an  object,  with  the  intent  to  bring  the 
essential  or  dominating  character  thereof  into 
prominence. 

We  should  overrun  our  limits  if  we  were  to 
follow  out  the  admirable  discussion  in  which 
M.  Taine  extends  this  definition  to  architecture 
and  music.  These  closely  allied  arts  are  distin- 
guished from  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture, 
by  appealing  far  less  directly  to  the  intelligence, 
and  far  more  exclusively  to  the  emotions.  Yet 
these  arts  likewise  aim,  by  bringing  into  promi- 
nence certain  relations  of  symmetry  in  form  as 
perceived  by  the  eye,  or  in  aerial  vibrations  as 
perceived  by  the  ear,  to  excite  in  us  the  states 
of  feeling  with  which  these  species  of  symmetry 
are  by  subtle  laws  of  association  connected. 
They,  too,  imitate,  not  literally,  but  under  the 
guidance  of  a  predominating  sentiment  or  emo- 
tion, relations  which  really  exist  among  the 
phenomena  of  nature.  And  here,  too,  we  esti- 
mate excellence,  not  in  proportion  to  the  direct, 
but  to  the  indirect  imitation.  A  Gothic  cathe- 
dral is  not,  as  has  been  supposed,  directly  imi- 
tated from  the  towering  vegetation  of  Northern 
forests ;  but  it  may  well  be  the  expression  of 
379 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  dim  sentiment  of  an  unseen,  all-pervading 
Power,  generated  by  centuries  of  primeval  life 
amid  such  forests.  So  the  sounds  which  in  a 
symphony  of  Beethoven  are  woven  into  a  web 
of  such  amazing  complexity  may  exist  in  differ- 
ent combinations  in  nature ;  but  when  a  musi- 
cian steps  out  of  his  way  to  imitate  the  crowing 
of  cocks  or  the  roar  of  the  tempest,  we  regard 
his  achievement  merely  as  a  graceful  conceit. 
Art  is,  therefore,  an  imitation  of  nature  ;  but  it 
is  an  intellectual  and  not  a  mechanical  imita- 
tion ;  and  the  performances  of  the  camera  and 
the  music-box  are  not  to  be  classed  with  those 
of  the  violinist's  bow  or  the  sculptor's  chisel. 

And  lastly,  in  distinguishing  art  from  science, 
Taine  remarks,  that  in  disengaging  from  their 
complexity  the  causes  which  are  at  work  in 
nature,  and  the  fundamental  laws  according  to 
which  they  work,  science  describes  them  in 
abstract  formulas  conveyed  in  technical  lan- 
guage. But  art  reveals  these  operative  causes 
and  these  dominant  laws,  not  in  arid  definitions, 
inaccessible  to  most  people,  intelligible  only  to 
specially  instructed  men,  but  in  a  concrete  sym- 
bol, addressing  itself  not  only  to  the  under- 
standing, but  still  more  to  the  sentiments  of  the 
ordinary  man.  Art  has,  therefore,  this  pecu- 
liarity, that  it  is  at  once  elevated  and  popular, 
that  it  manifests  that  which  is  often  most  recon- 
dite, and  that  it  manifests  it  to  all. 
380 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

Having  determined  what  a  work  of  art  is, 
our  author  goes  on  to  study  the  social  condi- 
tions under  which  works  of  art  are  produced ; 
and  he  concludes  that  the  general  character  of 
a  work  of  art  is  determined  by  the  state  of  in- 
tellect and  morals  in  the  society  in  which  it  is 
executed.  There  is,  in  fact,  a  sort  of  moral 
temperature  which  acts  upon  mental  develop- 
ment much  as  physical  temperature  acts  upon 
organic  development.  The  condition  of  society 
does  not  produce  the  artist's  talent ;  but  it  as- 
sists or  checks  its  efforts  to  display  itself;  it 
decides  whether  or  not  it  shall  be  successful. 
And  it  exerts  a  "  natural  selection "  between 
different  kinds  of  talents,  stimulating  some  and 
starving  others.  To  make  this  perfectly  clear, 
we  will  cite  at  some  length  Taine's  brilliant 
illustration. 

The  case  chosen  for  illustration  is  a  very 
simple  one,  —  that  of  a  state  of  society  in  which 
one  of  the  predominant  feelings  is  melancholy. 
This  is  not  an  arbitrary  supposition,  for  such  a 
time  has  occurred  more  than  once  in  human 
history ;  in  Asia,  in  the  sixth  century  before 
Christ,  and  especially  in  Europe,  from  the 
fourth  to  the  tenth  centuries  of  our  era.  To 
produce  such  a  state  of  feeling,  five  or  six  gen- 
erations of  decadence,  accompanied  with  dimi- 
nution of  population,  foreign  invasions,  famines, 
pestilences,  and  increasing  difficulty  in  procur- 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ing  the  necessaries  of  life,  are  amply  sufficient. 
It  then  happens  that  men  lose  courage  and 
hope,  and  consider  life  an  evil.  Now,  admit- 
ting that  among  the  artists  who  live  in  such  a 
time,  there  are  likely  to  be  the  same  relative 
numbers  of  melancholy,  joyous,  or  indifferent 
temperaments  as  at  other  times,  let  us  see  how 
they  will  be  affected  by  reigning  circumstances. 

Let  us  first  remember,  says  Taine,  that  the 
evils  which  depress  the  public  will  also  depress 
the  artist.  His  risks  are  no  less  than  those  of 
less  gifted  people.  He  is  liable  to  suffer  from 
plague  or  famine,  to  be  ruined  by  unfair  taxa- 
tion or  conscription,  or  to  see  his  children  mas- 
sacred and  his  wife  led  into  captivity  by  bar- 
barians. And  if  these  ills  do  not  reach  him 
personally,  he  must  at  least  behold  those  around 
him  affected  by  them.  In  this  way,  if  he  is 
joyous  by  temperament,  he  must  inevitably  be- 
come less  joyous  ;  if  he  is  melancholy,  he  must 
become  more  melancholy. 

Secondly,  having  been  reared  among  melan- 
choly contemporaries,  his  education  will  have 
exerted  upon  him  a  corresponding  influence. 
The  prevailing  religious  doctrine,  accommo- 
dated to  the  state  of  affairs,  will  tell  him  that 
the  earth  is  a  place  of  exile,  life  an  evil,  gayety  a 
snare,  and  his  most  profitable  occupation  will 
be  to  get  ready  to  die.  Philosophy,  construct- 
ing its  system  of  morals  in  conformity  to  the 
382 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

existing  phenomena  of  decadence,  will  tell  him 
that  he  had  better  never  have  been  born. 
Daily  conversation  will  inform  him  of  horrible 
events,  of  the  devastation  of  a  province,  the 
sack  of  a  town  by  the  Goths,  the  oppression  of 
the  neighbouring  peasants  by  the  imperial  tax- 
collectors,  or  the  civil  war  that  has  just  burst 
out  between  half  a  dozen  pretenders  to  the 
throne.  As  he  travels  about,  he  beholds  signs 
of  mourning  and  despair,  crowds  of  beggars, 
people  dying  of  hunger,  a  broken  bridge  which 
no  one  is  mending,  an  abandoned  suburb  which 
is  going  to  ruin,  fields  choked  with  weeds,  the 
blackened  walls  of  burnt  houses.  Such  sights 
and  impressions,  repeated  from  childhood  to 
old  age  (and  we  must  remember  that  this  has 
actually  been  the  state  of  things  in  what  are 
now  the  fairest  parts  of  the  globe),  cannot  fail 
to  deepen  whatever  elements  of  melancholy 
there  may  be  already  in  the  artist's  disposition. 
The  operation  of  all  these  causes  will  be  en- 
hanced by  that  very  peculiarity  of  the  artist 
which  constitutes  his  talent.  For,  according  to 
the  definitions  above  given,  that  which  makes 
him  an  artist  is  his  capacity  for  seizing  upon 
the  essential  characteristics  and  the  salient  traits 
of  surrounding  objects  and  events.  Other  men 
see  things  in  part  fragmentarily ;  he  catches  the 
spirit  of  the  ensemble.  And  in  this  way  he  will 


383 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

very  likely  exaggerate  in  his  works  the  general 
average  of  contemporary  feeling. 

Lastly,  our  author  reminds  us  that  a  man 
who  writes  or  paints  does  not  remain  alone  be- 
fore his  easel  or  his  writing-desk.  He  goes 
out,  looks  about  him,  receives  suggestions  from 
friends,  from  rivals,  from  books,  and  works 
of  art  whenever  accessible,  and  hears  the  criti- 
cisms of  the  public  upon  his  own  productions 
and  those  of  his  contemporaries.  In  order  to 
succeed,  he  must  not  only  satisfy  to  some  ex- 
tent the  popular  taste,  but  he  must  feel  that  the 
public  is  in  sympathy  with  him.  If  in  this 
period  of  social  decadence  and  gloom  he  en- 
deavours to  represent  gay,  brilliant,  or  trium- 
phant ideas,  he  will  find  himself  left  to  his  own 
resources ;  and,  as  Taine  rightly  says,  the  power 
of  an  isolated  man  is  always  insignificant.  His 
work  will  be  likely  to  be  mediocre.  If  he  at- 
tempts to  write  like  Rabelais  or  paint  like 
Rubens,  he  will  get  neither  assistance  nor  sym- 
pathy from  a  public  which  prefers  the  pictures 
of  Rembrandt,  the  melodies  of  Chopin,  and  the 
poetry  of  Heine. 

Having  thus  explained  his  position  by  this 
extreme  instance,  signified  for  the  sake  of  clear- 
ness, Taine  goes  on  to  apply  such  general  con- 
siderations to  four  historic  epochs,  taken  in  all 
their  complexity.  He  discusses  the  aspect  pre- 
sented by  art  in  ancient  Greece,  in  the  feudal 
384 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

and  Catholic  Middle  Ages,  in  the  centralized 
monarchies  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  in 
the  scientific,  industrial  democracy  in  which  we 
now  live.  Out  of  these  we  shall  select,  as  per- 
haps the  simplest,  the  case  of  ancient  Greece, 
still  following  our  author  closely,  though  neces- 
sarily omitting  many  interesting  details. 

The  ancient  Greeks,  observes  Taine,  under- 
stood life  in  a  new  and  original  manner.  Their 
energies  were  neither  absorbed  by  a  great  reli- 
gious conception,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Hindus 
and  Egyptians,  nor  by  a  vast  social  organiza- 
tion, as  in  the  case  of  the  Assyrians  and  Per- 
sians, nor  by  a  purely  industrial  and  commer- 
cial regime,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Phoenicians 
and  Carthaginians.  Instead  of  a  theocracy  or  a 
rigid  system  of  castes,  instead  of  a  monarchy 
with  a  hierarchy  of  civil  officials,  the  men  of 
this  race  invented  a  peculiar  institution,  the 
City,  each  city  giving  rise  to  others  like  itself, 
and  from  colony  to  colony  reproducing  itself 
indefinitely.  A  single  Greek  city,  for  instance, 
Miletos,  produced  three  hundred  other  cities, 
colonizing  with  them  the  entire  coast  of  the 
Black  Sea.  Each  city  was  substantially  self- 
ruling  ;  and  the  idea  of  a  coalescence  of  several 
cities  into  a  nation  was  one  which  the  Greek 
mind  rarely  conceived,  and  never  was  able  to 
put  into  operation. 

In  these  cities,  labour  was  for  the  most  part 

385 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

carried  on  by  slaves.  In  Athens  there  were  four 
or  five  for  each  citizen,  and  in  places  like  Kor- 
inth  and  Aigina  the  slave  population  is  said  to 
have  numbered  four  or  five  hundred  thousand. 
Besides,  the  Greek  citizen  had  little  need  of 
personal  service.  He  lived  out  of  doors,  and, 
like  most  Southern  people,  was  comparatively 
abstemious  in  his  habits.  His  dinners  were 
slight,  his  clothing  was  simple,  his  house  was 
scantily  furnished,  being  intended  chiefly  for  a 
den  to  sleep  in. 

Serving  neither  king  nor  priest,  the  citizen 
was  free  and  sovereign  in  his  own  city.  He 
elected  his  own  magistrates,  and  might  himself 
serve  as  city-ruler,  as  juror,  or  as  judge.  Repre- 
sentation was  unknown.  Legislation  was  carried 
on  by  all  the  citizens  assembled  in  mass.  There- 
fore politics  and  war  were  the  sole  or  chief  em- 
ployments of  the  citizen.  War,  indeed,  came  in 
for  no  slight  share  of  his  attention.  For  society 
was  not  so  well  protected  as  in  these  modern 
days.  Most  of  these  Greek  cities,  scattered 
over  the  coasts  of  the  Aigeian,  the  Black  Sea, 
and  the  Mediterranean,  were  surrounded  by 
tribes  of  barbarians,  Scythians,  Gauls,  Span- 
iards, and  Africans.  The  citizen  must  there- 
fore keep  on  his  guard,  like  the  Englishman 
of  to-day,  in  New  Zealand,  or  like  the  inhabit- 
ant of  a  Massachusetts  town  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  Otherwise  Gauls,  Samnites,  or  Bithyn- 
386 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

ians,  as  savage  as  North  American  Indians, 
would  be  sure  to  encamp  upon  the  blackened 
ruins  of  his  town.  Moreover,  the  Greek  cities 
had  their  quarrels  with  each  other,  and  their 
laws  of  war  were  very  barbarous.  A  conquered 
city  was  liable  to  be  razed  to  the  ground,  its 
male  inhabitants  put  to  the  sword,  its  women 
sold  as  slaves.  Under  such  circumstances,  ac- 
cording to  Taine's  happy  expression,  a  citizen 
must  be  a  politician  and  warrior,  on  pain  of 
death.  And  not  only  fear,  but  ambition  also 
tended  to  make  him  so.  For  each  city  strove 
to  subject  or  to  humiliate  its  neighbours,  to 
acquire  tribute,  or  to  exact  homage  from  its 
rivals.  Thus  the  citizen  passed  his  life  in  the 
public  square,  discussing  alliances,  treaties,  and 
constitutions,  hearing  speeches,  or  speaking 
himself,  and  finally  going  aboard  of  his  ship  to 
fight  his  neighbour  Greeks,  or  to  sail  against 
Egypt  or  Persia. 

War  (and  politics  as  subsidiary  to  it)  was 
then  the  chief  pursuit  of  life.  But  as  there  was 
no  organized  industry,  so  there  were  no  ma- 
chines of  warfare.  All  fighting  was  done  hand 
to  hand.  Therefore,  the  great  thing  in  prepar- 
ing for  war  was  not  to  transform  the  soldiers 
into  precisely-acting  automata,  as  in  a  modern 
army,  but  to  make  each  separate  soldier  as 
vigorous  and  active  as  possible.  The  leading 
object  of  Greek  education  was  to  make  men 

387 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

% 

physically  perfect.  In  this  respect,  Sparta  may 
be  taken  as  the  typical  Greek  community,  for 
nowhere  else  was  physical  development  so  en- 
tirely made  the  great  end  of  social  life.  In  these 
matters  Sparta  was  always  regarded  by  the  other 
cities  as  taking  the  lead,  —  as  having  attained 
the  ideal  after  which  all  alike  were  striving. 
Now  Sparta,  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  numer- 
ous conquered  population  of  Messenians  and 
Helots,  was  partly  a  great  gymnasium  and 
partly  a  perpetual  camp.  Her  citizens  were 
always  in  training.  The  entire  social  constitu- 
tion of  Sparta  was  shaped  with  a  view  to  the 
breeding  and  bringing  up  of  a  strong  and  beau- 
tiful race.  Feeble  or  ill-formed  infants  were 
put  to  death.  The  age  at  which  citizens  might 
marry  was  prescribed  by  law ;  and  the  State 
paired  off  men  and  women  as  the  modern 
breeder  pairs  off  horses,  with  a  sole  view  to  the 
excellence  of  the  offspring.  A  wife  was  not  a 
helpmate,  but  a  bearer  of  athletes.  Women 
boxed,  wrestled,  and  raced ;  a  circumstance 
referred  to  in  the  following  passage  of  Aristo- 
phanes, as  rendered  by  Mr.  Felton  :  — 

LYSISTRATA. 

Hail  !  Lampito,  dearest  of  Lakonian  women. 
How  shines  thy  beauty,  O  my  sweetest  friend  ! 
How  fair  thy  colour,  full  of  life  thy  frame  ! 
Why,  thou  couldst  choke  a  bull. 

388 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

LAMPITO. 

Yes,  by  the  Twain  ; 
For  I  do  practise  the  gymnastic  art, 
And,  leaping,  strike  my  backbone  with  my  heels. 

LYSISTRATA. 
In  sooth,  thy  bust  is  lovely  to  behold. 

The  young  men  lived  together,  like  soldiers 
in  a  camp.  They  ate  out  of  doors,  at  a  public 
table.  Their  fare  was  as  simple  as  that  of 
a  modern  university  boat-crew  before  a  race. 
They  slept  in  the  open  air,  and  spent  their 
waking  hours  in  wrestling,  boxing,  running 
races,  throwing  quoits,  and  engaging  in  mock 
battles.  This  was  the  way  in  which  the  Spar- 
tans lived ;  and  though  no  other  city  carried 
this  discipline  to  such  an  extent,  yet  in  all  a 
very  large  portion  of  the  citizen's  life  was  spent 
in  making  himself  hardy  and  robust. 

The  ideal  man,  in  the  eyes  of  a  Greek,  was, 
therefore,  not  the  contemplative  or  delicately 
susceptible  thinker,  but  the  naked  athlete,  with 
firm  flesh  and  swelling  muscles.  Most  of  their 
barbarian  neighbours  were  ashamed  to  be  seen 
undressed,  but  the  Greeks  seem  to  have  felt 
little  embarrassment  in  appearing  naked  in 
public.  Their  gymnastic  habits  entirely  trans- 
formed their  sense  of  shame.  Their  Olympic 
and  other  public  games  were  a  triumphant  dis- 
play of  naked  physical  perfection.  Young  men 
of  the  noblest  families  and  from  the  farthest 
389 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

Greek  colonies  came  to  them,  and  wrestled  and 
ran,  undraped,  before  countless  multitudes  of 
admiring  spectators.  Note,  too,  as  significant, 
that  the  Greek  era  began  with  the  Olympic 
games,  and  that  time  was  reckoned  by  the  in- 
tervals between  them ;  as  well  as  the  fact  that 
the  grandest  lyric  poetry  of  antiquity  was  writ- 
ten in  celebration  of  these  gymnastic  contests. 
The  victor  in  the  foot-race  gave  his  name  to 
the  current  Olympiad;  and  on  reaching  home 
was  received  by  his  fellow-citizens  as  if  he  had 
been  a  general  returning  from  a  successful  cam- 
paign. To  be  the  most  beautiful  man  in  Greece 
was  in  the  eyes  of  a  Greek  the  height  of  human 
felicity;  and  with  the  Greeks,  beauty  neces- 
sarily included  strength.  So  ardently  did  this 
gifted  people  admire  corporeal  perfection  that 
they  actually  worshipped  it.  According  to  He- 
rodotos,  a  young  Sicilian  was  deified  on  account 
of  his  beauty,  and  after  his  death  altars  were 
raised  to  him.  The  vast  intellectual  power  of 
Plato  and  Sokrates  did  not  prevent  them  from 
sharing  this  universal  enthusiasm.  Poets  like 
Sophokles,  and  statesmen  like  Alexander, 
thought  it  not  beneath  their  dignity  to  engage 
publicly  in  gymnastic  sports. 

Their  conceptions  of  divinity  were  framed  in 

accordance  with  these  general  habits.    Though 

sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  Hephaistos,  the 

exigencies  of  the  particular  myth  required  the 

390 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

deity  to  be  physically  imperfect,  yet  ordinarily 
the  Greek  god  was  simply  an  immortal  man, 
complete  in  strength  and  beauty.  The  deity 
was  not  invested  with  the  human  form  as  a 
mere  symbol.  They  could  conceive  no  loftier 
way  of  representing  him.  The  grandest  statue, 
expressing  most  adequately  the  calmness  of 
absolutely  unfettered  strength,  might  well,  in 
their  eyes,  be  a  veritable  portrait  of  divinity. 
To  a  Greek,  beauty  of  form  was  a  consecrated 
thing.  More  than  once  a  culprit  got  off  with 
his  life  because  it  would  have  been  thought 
sacrilegious  to  put  an  end  to  such  a  symmet- 
rical creature.  And  for  a  similar  reason,  the 
Greeks,  though  perhaps  not  more  humane  than 
the  Europeans  of  the  Middle  Ages,  rarely 
allowed  the  human  body  to  be  mutilated  or 
tortured.  The  condemned  criminal  must  be 
marred  as  little  as  possible ;  and  he  was,  there- 
fore, quietly  poisoned,  instead  of  being  hung, 
beheaded,  or  broken  on  the  wheel. 

Is  not  the  unapproachable  excellence  of 
Greek  statuary  —  that  art  never  since  equalled, 
and  most  likely,  from  the  absence  of  the  need- 
ful social  stimulus,  destined  never  to  be 
equalled  —  already  sufficiently  explained  ?  Con- 
sider, says  our  author,  the  nature  of  the  Greek 
sculptor's  preparation.  These  men  have  ob- 
served the  human  body  naked  and  in  move- 
ment, in  the  bath  and  the  gymnasium,  in  sacred 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

dances  and  public  games.  They  have  noted 
those  forms  and  attitudes  in  which  are  revealed 
vigour,  health,  and  activity.  And  during  three 
or  four  hundred  years  they  have  thus  modified, 
corrected,  and  developed  their  notions  of  cor- 
poreal beauty.  There  is,  therefore,  nothing  sur- 
prising in  the  fact  that  Greek  sculpture  finally 
arrived  at  the  ideal  model,  the  perfect  type, 
as  it  was,  of  the  human  body.  Our  highest 
notions  of  physical  beauty,  down  to  the  present 
day,  have  been  bequeathed  to  us  by  the  Greeks. 
The  earliest  modern  sculptors  who  abandoned 
the  bony,  hideous,  starveling  figures  of  the 
monkish  Middle  Ages,  learned  their  first  les- 
sons in  better  things  from  Greek  bas-reliefs. 
And  if,  to-day,  forgetting  our  half-developed 
bodies,  inefficiently  nourished,  because  of  our 
excessive  brain-work,  and  with  their  muscles 
weak  and  flabby  from  want  of  strenuous  exer- 
cise, we  wish  to  contemplate  the  human  form 
in  its  grandest  perfection,  we  must  go  to  Hel- 
lenic art  for  our  models. 

The  Greeks  were,  in  the  highest  sense  of 
the  word,  an  intellectual  race ;  but  they  never 
allowed  the  mind  to  tyrannize  over  the  body. 
Spiritual  perfection,  accompanied  by  corporeal 
feebleness,  was  the  invention  of  asceticism ; 
and  the  Greeks  were  never  ascetics.  Diogenes 
might  scorn  superfluous  luxuries,  but  if  he  ever 
rolled  and  tumbled  his  tub  about  as  Rabelais 
392 


A  PHILOSOPHY  OF  ART 

says  he  did,  it  is  clear  that  the  victory  of  spirit 
over  body  formed  no  part  of  his  theory  of 
things.  Such  an  idea  would  have  been  incom- 
prehensible to  a  Greek  in  Plato's  time.  Their 
consciences  were  not  over  active.  They  were 
not  burdened  with  a  sense  of  sinfulness.  Their 
aspirations  were  decidedly  finite ;  and  they 
believed  in  securing  the  maximum  complete- 
ness of  this  terrestrial  life.  Consequently  they 
never  set  the  physical  below  the  intellectual. 
To  return  to  our  author,  they  never  in  their 
statues  subordinated  symmetry  to  expression, 
the  body  to  the  head.  They  were  interested 
not  only  in  the  prominence  of  the  brows,  the 
width  of  the  forehead,  and  the  curvature  of  the 
lips,  but  quite  as  much  in  the  massiveness  of 
the  chest,  the  compactness  of  the  thighs,  and 
the  solidity  of  the  arms  and  legs.  Not  only  the 
face,  but  the  whole  body,  had  for  them  its  phy- 
siognomy. They  left  picturesqueness  to  the 
painter,  and  dramatic  fervour  to  the  poet ;  and 
keeping  strictly  before  their  eyes  the  narrow  but 
exalted  problem  of  representing  the  beauty  of 
symmetry,  they  filled  their  sanctuaries  and  pub- 
lic places  with  those  grand  motionless  people  of 
brass,  gold,  ivory,  copper,  and  marble,  in  whom 
humanity  recognizes  its  highest  artistic  types. 
Statuary  was  the  central  art  of  Greece.  No 
other  art  was  so  popular,  or  so  completely 
expressed  the  national  life.  The  number  of 
393 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

statues  was  enormous.  In  later  days,  when 
Rome  had  spoiled  the  Greek  world  of  its  trea- 
sures, the  Imperial  City  possessed  a  population 
of  statues  almost  equal  in  number  to  its  popu- 
lation of  human  beings.  And  at  the  present 
day,  after  all  the  destructive  accidents  of  so 
many  intervening  centuries,  it  is  estimated  that 
more  than  sixty  thousand  statues  have  been 
obtained  from  Rome  and  its  suburbs  alone. 

In  citing  this  admirable  exposition  as  a  speci- 
men of  M.  Taine's  method  of  dealing  with  his 
subject,  we  have  refrained  from  disturbing  the 
pellucid  current  of  thought  by  criticisms  of  our 
own.  We  think  the  foregoing  explanation  cor- 
rect enough,  so  far  as  it  goes,  though  it  deals 
with  the  merest  rudiments  of  the  subject,  and 
really  does  nothing  towards  elucidating  the 
deeper  mysteries  of  artistic  production.  For  this 
there  is  needed  a  profounder  psychology  than 
M.  Taine's.  But  whether  his  theory  of  art  be 
adequate  or  not,  there  can  be  but  one  opinion 
as  to  the  brilliant  eloquence  with  which  it  is  set 
forth. 

June,  1868. 


394 


XIV 
ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN   LIFE 

IN  a  very  interesting  essay  on  British  and 
Foreign  Characteristics,  published  a  few 
years  ago,  Mr.  W.  R.  Greg  quotes  the 
famous  letter  of  the  Turkish  cadi  to  Mr.  Lay- 
ard,  with  the  comment  that  "  it  contains  the 
germ  and  element  of  a  wisdom  to  which  our 
busy  and  bustling  existence  is  a  stranger ;  "  and 
he  uses  it  as  a  text  for  an  instructive  sermon  on 
the  "gospel  of  leisure."  He  urges,  with  justice, 
that  the  too  eager  and  restless  modern  man, 
absorbed  in  problems  of  industrial  develop- 
ment, may  learn  a  wholesome  lesson  from  the 
contemplation  of  his  Oriental  brother,  who  cares 
not  to  say,  "  Behold,  this  star  spinneth  round 
that  star,  and  this  other  star  with  a  tail  cometh 
and  goeth  in  so  many  years ; "  who  aspires  not 
after  a  "  double  stomach,"  nor  hopes  to  attain 
to  Paradise  by  "  seeking  with  his  eyes."  If  any 
one  may  be  thought  to  stand  in  need  of  some 
such  lesson,  it  is  the  American  of  to-day.  Just 
as  far  as  the  Turk  carries  his  apathy  to  excess, 
does  the  American  carry  to  excess  his  restless- 
ness. But  just  because  the  incurious  idleness  of 
395 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  Turk  is  excessive,  so  as  to  be  detrimental 
to  completeness  of  living,  it  is  unfit  to  supply 
us  with  the  hints  we  need  concerning  the 
causes,  character,  and  effects  of  our  over-activ- 
ity. A  sermon  of  leisure,  if  it  is  to  be  of  practi- 
cal use  to  us,  must  not  be  a  sermon  of  laziness. 
The  Oriental  state  of  mind  is  incompatible  with 
progressive  improvement  of  any  sort,  physical, 
intellectual,  or  moral.  It  is  one  of  the  phe- 
nomena attendant  upon  the  arrival  of  a  com- 
munity at  a  stationary  condition  before  it  has 
acquired  a  complex  civilization.  And  it  appears 
serviceable  rather  as  a  background  upon  which 
to  exhibit  in  relief  our  modern  turmoil,  than 
by  reason  of  any  lesson  which  it  is  itself  likely 
to  convey.  Let  us  in  preference  study  one  of 
the  most  eminently  progressive  of  all  the  com- 
munities that  have  existed.  Let  us  take  an 
example  quite  different  from  any  that  can  be 
drawn  from  Oriental  life,  but  almost  equally 
contrasted  with  any  that  can  be  found  among 
ourselves ;  and  let  us,  with  the  aid  of  it,  exam- 
ine the  respective  effects  of  leisure  and  of  hurry 
upon  the  culture  of  the  community. 

What  do  modern  critics  mean  by  the  "  healthy 
completeness  "  of  ancient  life,  which  they  are  so 
fond  of  contrasting  with  the  "  heated,"  "  discon- 
tented," or  imperfect  and  one-sided  existence  of 
modern  communities  ?  Is  this  a  mere  set  of 
phrases,  suited  to  some  imaginary  want  of  the 
396 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

literary  critic,  but  answering  to  nothing  real  ? 
Are  they  to  be  summarily  disposed  of  as  resting 
upon  some  tacit  assumption  of  that  old-granny- 
ism  which  delights  in  asseverating  that  times 
are  not  what  they  used  to  be  ?  Is  the  contrast 
an  imaginary  one,  due  to  the  softened,  cheerful 
light  with  which  we  are  wont  to  contemplate 
classic  antiquity  through  the  charmed  medium 
of  its  incomparable  literature  ?  Or  is  it  a  real 
contrast,  worthy  of  the  attention  and  analysis 
of  the  historical  inquirer  ?  The  answer  to  these 
queries  will  lead  us  far  into  the  discussion  of 
the  subject  which  we  have  propounded,  and  we 
shall  best  reach  it  by  considering  some  aspects 
of  the  social  condition  of  ancient  Greece.  The 
lessons  to  be  learned  from  that  wonderful  coun- 
try are  not  yet  exhausted.  Each  time  that  we 
return  to  that  richest  of  historic  mines,  and  delve 
faithfully  and  carefully,  we  shall  be  sure  to  dig 
up  some  jewel  worth  carrying  away. 

And  in  considering  ancient  Greece,  we  shall 
do  well  to  confine  our  attention,  for  the  sake  of 
definiteness  of  conception,  to  a  single  city.  Com- 
paratively homogeneous  as  Greek  civilization 
was,  there  was  nevertheless  a  great  deal  of  dif- 
ference between  the  social  circumstances  of  sun- 
dry of  its  civic  communities.  What  was  true  of 
Athens  was  frequently  not  true  of  Sparta  or 
Thebes,  and  general  assertions  about  ancient 
Greece  are  often  likely  to  be  correct  only  in  a 

397 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

loose  and  general  way.  In  speaking,  therefore, 
of  Greece,  I  must  be  understood  in  the  main  as 
referring  to  Athens,  the  eye  and  light  of  Greece, 
the  nucleus  and  centre  of  Hellenic  culture. 

Let  us  note  first  that  Athens  was  a  large  city 
surrounded  by  pleasant  village-suburbs,  —  the 
demes  of  Attika,  —  very  much  as  Boston  is 
closely  girdled  by  rural  places  like  Brookline, 
Jamaica  Plain,  and  the  rest,  village  after  village 
rather  thickly  covering  a  circuit  of  from  ten  to 
twenty  miles'  radius.  The  population  of  Athens 
with  its  suburbs  may  perhaps  have  exceeded 
half  a  million  ;  but  the  number  of  adult  freemen 
bearing  arms  did  not  exceed  twenty-five  thou- 
sand.1 For  every  one  of  these  freemen  there  were 
four  or  five  slaves ;  not  ignorant,  degraded  la- 
bourers, belonging  to  an  inferior  type  of  hu- 
manity, and  bearing  the  marks  of  a  lower  caste 
in  their  very  personal  formation  and  in  the 
colour  of  their  skin,  like  our  lately  enslaved 
negroes ;  but  intelligent,  skilled  labourers,  be- 
longing usually  to  the  Hellenic,  and  at  any  rate 
to  the  Aryan  race,  as  fair  and  perhaps  as  hand- 
some as  their  masters,  and  not  subjected  to 
especial  ignominy  or  hardship.  These  slaves,  of 
whom  there  were  at  least  one  hundred  thousand 
adult  males,  relieved  the  twenty-five  thousand 
freemen  of  nearly  all  the  severe  drudgery  of  life  ; 

1  See  Herod,  v.  97  ;  Aristoph.  Ekkl.  432  ;  Thukyd.  ii. 
13  ;  Plutarch,  Perikl.  37. 

398 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

and  the  result  was  an  amount  of  leisure  perhaps 
never  since  known  on  an  equal  scale  in  history. 
The  relations  of  master  and  slave  in  ancient 
Athens  constituted,  of  course,  a  very  different 
phenomenon  from  anything  which  the  history 
of  our  own  Southern  States  has  to  offer  us. 
Our  Southern  slaveholders  lived  in  an  age  of 
industrial  development ;  they  were  money- 
makers :  they  had  their  full  share  of  business  in 
managing  the  operations  for  which  their  labour- 
ers supplied  the  crude  physical  force.  It  was 
not  so  in  Athens  :  the  era  of  civilization  founded 
upon  organized  industry  had  not  begun ;  money- 
making  had  not  come  to  be,  with  the  Greeks, 
the  one  all-important  end  of  life  ;  and  mere 
subsistence,  which  is  now  difficult,  was  then  easy. 
The  Athenian  lived  in  a  mild,  genial,  healthy 
climate,  in  a  country  which  has  always  been 
notable  for  the  activity  and  longevity  of  its  in- 
habitants. He  was  frugal  in  his  habits,  —  a 
wine-drinker  and  an  eater  of  meat,  but  rarely 
addicted  to  gluttony  or  intemperance.  His  dress 
was  inexpensive,  for  the  Greek  climate  made 
but  little  protection  necessary,  and  the  gymnastic 
habits  of  the  Greeks  led  them  to  esteem  more 
highly  the  beauty  of  the  body  than  that  of  its 
covering.  His  house  was  simple,  not  being  in- 
tended for  social  purposes,  while  of  what  we 
should  call  home-life  the  Greeks  had  none. 
The  house  was  a  shelter  at  night,  a  place  where 
399 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  frugal  meal  might  be  taken,  a  place  where 
the  wife  might  stay,  and  look  after  the  house- 
hold slaves  or  attend  to  the  children.  And  this 
brings  us  to  another  notable  feature  of  Athenian 
life.  The  wife  having  no  position  in  society, 
being  nothing,  indeed,  but  a  sort  of  household 
utensil,  how  greatly  was  life  simplified  !  What 
a  door  for  expenditure  was  there,  as  yet  securely 
closed,  and  which  no  one  had  thought  of  open- 
ing !  No  milliner's  or  dressmaker's  bills,  no 
evening  parties,  no  Protean  fashions,  no  elegant 
furniture,  no  imperious  necessity  for  Kleanthes 
to  outshine  Kleon,  no  coaches,  no  Chateau 
Margaux,  no  journeys  to  Arkadia  in  the  sum- 
mer !  In  such  a  state  of  society,  as  one  may 
easily  see,  the  labour  of  one  man  would  support 
half  a  dozen.  It  cost  the  Athenian  but  a  few 
cents  daily  to  live,  and  even  these  few  cents 
might  be  earned  by  his  slaves.  We  need  not, 
therefore,  be  surprised  to  learn  that  in  ancient 
Athens  there  were  no  paupers  or  beggars.  There 
might  be  poverty,  but  indigence  was  unknown  ; 
and  because  of  the  absence  of  fashion,  style,  and 
display,  even  poverty  entailed  no  uncomfortable 
loss  of  social  position.  The  Athenians  valued 
wealth  highly,  no  doubt,  as  a  source  of  contri- 
butions to  public  festivals  and  to  the  necessities 
of  the  state.  But  as  far  as  the  circumstances 
of  daily  life  go,  the  difference  between  the  rich 
man  and  the  poor  man  was  immeasurably  less 
400 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

than  in  any  modern  community,  and  the  incen- 
tives to  the  acquirement  of  wealth  were,  as  a 
consequence,  comparatively  slight. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  Athenians  did 
not  engage  in  business.  Their  city  was  a  com- 
mercial city,  and  their  ships  covered  the  Medi- 
terranean. They  had  agencies  and  factories  at 
Marseilles,  on  the  remote  coasts  of  Spain,  and 
along  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea.  They  were 
in  many  respects  the  greatest  commercial  people 
of  antiquity,  and  doubtless  knew,  as  well  as  other 
people,  the  keen  delights  of  acquisition.  But 
my  point  is,  that  with  them  the  acquiring  of 
property  had  not  become  the  chief  or  only 
end  of  life.  Production  was  carried  on  almost 
entirely  by  slave-labour  ;  interchange  of  com- 
modities was  the  business  of  the  masters,  and 
commerce  was  in  those  days  simple.  Banks, 
insurance  companies,  brokers'  boards,  —  all 
these  complex  instruments  of  Mammon  were 
as  yet  unthought  of.  There  was  no  Wall  Street 
in  ancient  Athens  ;  there  were  no  great  failures, 
no  commercial  panics,  no  over-issues  of  stock. 
Commerce,  in  short,  was  a  quite  subordinate 
matter,  and  the  art  of  money-making  was  in  its 
infancy. 

The  twenty-five  thousand  Athenian  freemen 

thus  enjoyed,  on  the  whole,  more  undisturbed 

leisure,    more    freedom    from    petty    harassing 

cares,  than  any   other   community  known    to 

401 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

history.  Nowhere  else  can  we  find,  on  careful 
study,  so  little  of  the  hurry  and  anxiety  which 
destroys  the  even  tenor  of  modern  life,  —  no- 
where else  so  few  of  the  circumstances  which 
tend  to  make  men  insane,  inebriate,  or  phthisi- 
cal, or  prematurely  old. 

This  being  granted,  it  remains  only  to  state 
and  illustrate  the  obverse  fact.  It  is  not  only 
true  that  Athens  has  produced  and  educated  a 
relatively  larger  number  of  men  of  the  highest 
calibre  and  most  complete  culture  than  any 
other  community  of  like  dimensions  which  has 
ever  existed ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  there  has 
been  no  other  community,  of  which  the  mem- 
bers have,  as  a  general  rule,  been  so  highly 
cultivated,  or  have  attained  individually  such 
completeness  of  life.  In  proof  of  the  first 
assertion  it  will  be  enough  to  mention  such 
names  as  those  of  Solon,  Themistokles,  Peri- 
kles,  and  Demosthenes  ;  Isokrates  and  Lysias ; 
Aristophanes  and  Menander ;  Aischylos,  So- 
phokles,  and  Euripides  ;  Pheidias  and  Praxi- 
teles ;  Sokrates  and  Plato  ;  Thukydides  and 
Xenophon :  remembering  that  these  men,  dis- 
tinguished for  such  different  kinds  of  achieve- 
ment, but  like  each  other  in  consummateness 
of  culture,  were  all  produced  within  one  town 
in  the  course  of  three  centuries.  At  no  other 
time  and  place  in  human  history  has  there 
been  even  an  approach  to  such  a  fact  as  this. 
402 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

My  other  assertion,  about  the  general  cul- 
ture of  the  community  in  which  such  men  were 
reared,  will  need  a  more  detailed  explanation. 
When  I  say  that  the  Athenian  public  was,  on 
the  whole,  the  most  highly  cultivated  public 
that  has  ever  existed,  I  refer  of  course  to  some- 
thing more  than  what  is  now  known  as  literary 
culture.  Of  this  there  was  relatively  little  in 
the  days  of  Athenian  greatness  ;  and  this  was 
because  there  was  not  yet  need  for  it  or  room 
for  it.  Greece  did  not  until  a  later  time  begin 
to  produce  scholars  and  savants ;  for  the  func- 
tion of  scholarship  does  not  begin  until  there 
has  been  an  accumulation  of  bygone  literature 
to  be  interpreted  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
live  in  a  later  time.  Grecian  greatness  was  al- 
ready becoming  a  thing  of  the  past,  when 
scholarship  and  literary  culture  of  the  modern 
type  began  at  Rome  and  Alexandria.  The 
culture  of  the  ancient  Athenians  was  largely 
derived  from  direct  intercourse  with  facts  of 
nature  and  of  life,  and  with  the  thoughts 
of  rich  and  powerful  minds  orally  expressed. 
The  value  of  this  must  not  be  underrated.  We 
moderns  are  accustomed  to  get  so  large  a  por- 
tion of  our  knowledge  and  of  our  theories  of 
life  out  of  books,  our  taste  and  judgpient  are 
so  largely  educated  by  intercourse  with  the 
printed  page,  that  we  are  apt  to  confound  cul- 
ture with  book-knowledge ; '  we  are  apt  to  for- 
403 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

get  the  innumerable  ways  in  which  the  highest 
intellectual  faculties  may  be  disciplined  without 
the  aid  of  literature.  We  must  study  antiquity 
to  realize  how  thoroughly  this  could  be  done. 
But  even  in  our  day,  how  much  more  fruitful 
is  the  direct  influence  of  an  original  mind  over 
us,  in  the  rare  cases  when  it  can  be  enjoyed, 
than  any  indirect  influence  which  the  same 
mind  may  exert  through  the  medium  of  printed 
books  !  What  fellow  of  a  college,  placed  amid 
the  most  abundant  and  efficient  implements 
of  study,  ever  gets  such  a  stimulus  to  the 
highest  and  richest  intellectual  life  as  was  af- 
forded to  Eckermann  by  his  daily  intercourse 
with  Goethe  ?  The  breadth  of  culture  and 
the  perfection  of  training  exhibited  by  John 
Stuart  Mill  need  not  surprise  us  when  we 
recollect  that  his  earlier  days  were  spent  in 
the  society  of  James  Mill  and  Jeremy  Ben- 
tham.  And  the  remarkable  extent  of  view, 
the  command  of  facts,  and  the  astonishing 
productiveness  of  such  modern  Frenchmen 
as  Sainte-Beuve  and  Littre  become  explicable 
when  we  reflect  upon  the  circumstance  that  so 
many  able  and  brilliant  men  are  collected  in 
one  city,  where  their  minds  may  continually 
and  directly  react  upon  each  other.  It  is  from 
the  lack  of  such  personal  stimulus  that  it  is 
difficult  or  indeed  wellnigh  impossible,  even 
for  those  whose  resources  are  such  as  to  give 
404 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

them  an  extensive  command  of  books,  to  keep 
up  to  the  highest  level  of  contemporary  cul- 
ture while  living  in  a  village  or  provincial 
town.  And  it  is  mainly  because  of  the  per- 
sonal stimulus  which  it  affords  to  its  students, 
that  a  great  university,  as  a  seat  of  culture,  is 
immeasurably  superior  to  a  small  one. 

Nevertheless,  the  small  community  in  any 
age  possesses  one  signal  advantage  over  the 
large  one,  in  its  greater  simplicity  of  life  and 
its  consequent  relative  leisure.  It  was  the  pre- 
rogative of  ancient  Athens  that  it  united  the 
advantages  of  the  large  to  those  of  the  small 
community.  In  relative  simplicity  of  life  it 
was  not  unlike  the  modern  village,  while  at 
the  same  time  it  was  the  metropolis  where 
the  foremost  minds  of  the  time  were  en- 
abled to  react  directly  upon  one  another.  In 
yet  another  respect  these  opposite  advantages 
were  combined.  The  twenty-five  thousand 
free  inhabitants  might  perhaps  all  know  some- 
thing of  each  other.  In  this  respect  Athens 
was  doubtless  much  like  a  New  England 
country  town,  with  the  all-important  differ- 
ence that  the  sordid  tone  due  to  continual 
struggle  for  money  was  absent.  It  was  like 
the  small  town  in  the  chance  which  it  afforded 
for  publicity  and  community  of  pursuits  among 
its  inhabitants.  Continuous  and  unrestrained 
social  intercourse  was  accordingly  a  distinctive 
405 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

feature  of  Athenian  life.  And,  as  already 
hinted,  this  intercourse  did  not  consist  in  even- 
ing flirtations,  with  the  eating  of  indigestible 
food  at  unseasonable  hours,  and  the  dancing 
of  "  the  German."  It  was  carried  on  out-of- 
doors  in  the  brightest  sunlight ;  it  brooked 
no  effeminacy ;  its  amusements  were  athletic 
games,  or  dramatic  entertainments,  such  as 
have  hardly  since  been  equalled.  Its  arena  was 
a  town  whose  streets  were  filled  with  statues 
and  adorned  with  buildings,  merely  to  behold 
which  was  in  itself  an  education.  The  partici- 
pators in  it  were  not  men  with  minds  so  dwarfed 
by  exclusive  devotion  to  special  pursuits  that 
after  "  talking  shop  "  they  could  find  nothing 
else  save  wine  and  cookery  to  converse  about. 
They  were  men  with  minds  fresh  and  open 
for  the  discussion  of  topics  which  are  not  for 
a  day  only. 

A  man  like  Sokrates,  living  in  such  a  com- 
munity, did  not  need  to  write  down  his  wis- 
dom. He  had  no  such  vast  public  as  the 
modern  philosopher  has  to  reach.  He  could 
hail  any  one  he  happened  to  pass  in  the  street, 
begin  an  argument  with  him  forthwith,  and  set 
a  whole  crowd  thinking  and  inquiring  about 
subjects  the  mere  contemplation  of  which 
would  raise  them  for  the  moment  above  mat- 
ters of  transient  concern.  For  more  than  half 
a  century  any  citizen  might  have  gratis  the 
406 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

benefit  of  oral  instruction  from  such  a  man  as 
he.  And  I  sometimes  think,  by  the  way,  that 
—  curtailed  as  it  is  to  literary  proportions  in 
the  dialogues  of  Plato,  bereft  of  all  that  per- 
sonal potency  which  it  had  when  it  flowed,  in- 
stinct with  earnestness,  from  the  lips  of  the 
teacher  —  even  to  this  day  the  wit  of  man  has 
perhaps  devised  no  better  general  gymnastics 
for  the  understanding  than  the  Sokratic  dia- 
lectic. I  am  far  from  saying  that  all  Athens 
listened  to  Sokrates  or  understood  him :  had  it 
been  so,  the  caricature  of  Aristophanes  would 
have  been  pointless,  and  the  sublime  yet 
mournful  trilogy  of  dialogues  which  portray 
the  closing  scenes  of  the  greatest  life  of  anti- 
quity would  never  have  been  written.  But  the 
mere  fact  that  such  a  man  lived  and  taught  in 
the  way  that  he  did  goes  far  in  proof  of  the 
deep  culture  of  the  Athenian  public.  Further 
confirmation  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that 
such  tragedies  as  the  Antigone,  the  Oidipous, 
and  the  Prometheus  were  written  to  suit  the 
popular  taste  of  the  time  ;  not  to  be  read  by 
literary  people,  or  to  be  performed  before 
select  audiences  such  as  in  our  day  listen  to 
Ristori  or  Janauschek,  but  to  hold  spell-bound 
that  vast  concourse  of  all  kinds  of  people 
which  assembled  at  the  Dionysiac  festivals. 

Still  further  proof  is  furnished  by  the  exqui- 
site literary  perfection  of  Greek  writings.    One 
407 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  the  common  arguments  in  favour  of  the 
study  of  Greek  at  the  present  day  is  based 
upon  the  opinion  that  in  the  best  works  extant 
in  that  language  the  art  of  literary  expression 
has  reached  wellnigh  absolute  perfection.  I  fully 
concur  in  this  opinion,  so  far  as  to  doubt  if 
even  the  greatest  modern  writers,  even  a  Pascal 
or  a  Voltaire,  can  fairly  sustain  a  comparison 
with  such  Athenians  as  Plato  or  Lysias.  This 
excellence  of  the  ancient  books  is  in  part  im- 
mediately due  to  the  fact  that  they  were  not 
written  in  a  hurry,  or  amid  the  anxieties  of  an 
over-busy  existence ;  but  it  is  in  greater  part 
due  to  the  indirect  consequences  of  a  leisurely 
life.  These  books  were  written  for  a  public 
which  knew  well  how  to  appreciate  the  finer 
beauties  of  expression ;  and,  what  is  still  more 
to  the  point,  their  authors  lived  in  a  com- 
munity where  an  elegant  style  was  habitual. 
Before  a  matchless  style  can  be  written,  there 
must  be  a  good  style  "  in  the  air,"  as  the  French 
say.  Probably  the  most  finished  talking  and 
writing  of  modern  times  has  been  done  in  and 
about  the  French  court  in  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury; and  it  is  accordingly  there  that  we  find 
men  like  Pascal  and  Bossuet  writing  a  prose 
which  for  precision,  purity,  and  dignity  has 
never  since  been  surpassed.  It  is  thus  that 
the  unapproachable  literary  excellence  of  ancient 
Greek  books  speaks  for  the  genuine  culture  of 
408 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

the  people  who  were  expected  to  read  them, 
or  to  hear  them  read.  For  one  of  the  surest 
indices  of  true  culture,  whether  professedly  lit- 
erary or  not,  is  the  power  to  express  one's  self 
in  precise,  rhythmical,  and  dignified  language. 
We  hardly  need  a  better  evidence  than  this  of 
the  superiority  of  the  ancient  community  in  the 
general  elevation  of  its  tastes  and  perceptions. 
Recollecting  how  Herodotos  read  his  history 
at  the  Olympic  games,  let  us  try  to  imagine 
even  so  picturesque  a  writer  as  Mr.  Parkman 
reading  a  few  chapters  of  his  "  Jesuits  in  North 
America  "  before  the  spectators  assembled  at 
the  Jerome  Park  races,  and  we  shall  the  better 
realize  how  deep-seated  was  Hellenic  culture. 

As  yet,  however,  I  have  referred  to  but  one 
side  of  Athenian  life.  Though  "  seekers  after 
wisdom,"  the  cultivated  people  of  Athens  did 
not  spend  all  their  valuable  leisure  in  dialectics 
or  in  connoisseurship.  They  were  not  a  set  of 
dilettanti  or  dreamy  philosophers,  and  they  were 
far  from  subordinating  the  material  side  of  life 
to  the  intellectual.  Also,  though  they  dealt  not 
in  money-making  after  the  eager  fashion  of 
modern  men,  they  had  still  concerns  of  imme- 
diate practical  interest  with  which  to  busy  them- 
selves. Each  one  of  these  twenty-five  thousand 
free  Athenians  was  not  only  a  free  voter,  but 
an  office-holder,  a  legislator,  a  judge.  They  did 
not  control  the  government  through  a  repre- 
409 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

sentative  body,  but  they  were  themselves  the 
government.  They  were,  one  and  all,  in  turn 
liable  to  be  called  upon  to  make  laws,  and  to 
execute  them  after  they  were  made,  as  well  as 
to  administer  justice  in  civil  and  criminal  suits. 
The  affairs  and  interests,  not  only  of  their  own 
city,  but  of  a  score  or  two  of  scattered  depend- 
encies, were  more  or  less  closely  to  be  looked 
after  by  them.  It  lay  with  them  to  declare  war, 
to  carry  it  on  after  declaring  it,  and  to  pay  the 
expenses  of  it.  Actually  and  not  by  deputy 
they  administered  the  government  of  their  own 
city,  both  in  its  local  and  in  its  imperial  rela- 
tions. All  this  implies  a  more  thorough,  more 
constant,  and  more  vital  political  training  than 
that  which  is  implied  by  the  modern  duties  of 
casting  a  ballot  and  serving  on  ajury.  The  life 
of  the  Athenian  was  emphatically  a  political  life. 
From  early  manhood  onward,  it  was  part  of  his 
duty  to  hear  legal  questions  argued  by  powerful 
advocates,  and  to  utter  a  decision  upon  law  and 
fact;  or  to  mix  in  debate  upon  questions  of 
public  policy,  arguing,  listening,  and  pondering. 
It  is  customary  to  compare  the  political  talent 
of  the  Greeks  unfavourably  with  that  displayed 
by  the  Romans,  and  I  have  no  wish  to  dispute 
this  estimate.  But  on  a  careful  study  it  will 
appear  that  the  Athenians,  at  least,  in  a  higher 
degree  than  any  other  community  of  ancient 
times,  exhibited  parliamentary  tact,  or  the  abil- 
410 


ity  to  sit  still  while  both  sides  of  a  question  are 
getting  discussed,  —  that  sort  of  political  talent 
for  which  the  English  races  are  distinguished, 
and  to  the  lack  of  which  so  many  of  the  polit- 
ical failures  of  the  French  are  egregiously  due. 
One  would  suppose  that  a  judicature  of  the 
whole  town  would  be  likely  to  execute  a  sorry 
parody  of  justice  ;  yet  justice  was  by  no  means 
ill-administered  at  Athens.  Even  the  most  un- 
fortunate and  disgraceful  scenes,  —  as  where  the 
proposed  massacre  of  the  Mytilenaians  was  dis- 
cussed, and  where  summary  retribution  was  dealt 
out  to  the  generals  who  had  neglected  their  duty 
at  Arginusai,  —  even  these  scenes  furnish,  when 
thoroughly  examined,  as  by  Mr.  Grote,  only 
the  more  convincing  proof  that  the  Athenian 
was  usually  swayed  by  sound  reason  and  good 
sense  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  All  great 
points,  in  fact,  were  settled  rather  by  sober 
appeals  to  reason  than  by  intrigue  or  lobbying; 
and  one  cannot  help  thinking  that  an  Athenian 
of  the  time  of  Perikles  would  have  regarded  with 
pitying  contempt  the  trick  of  the  "  previous 
question."  And  this  explains  the  undoubted  pre- 
eminence of  Athenian  oratory.  This  accounts 
for  the  fact  that  we  find  in  the  forensic  annals 
of  a  single  city,  and  within  the  compass  of  a 
single  century,  such  names  as  Lysias,  Isokrates, 
Andokides,  Hypereides,  Aischines,  and  Demos- 
thenes. The  art  of  oratory,  like  the  art  of  sculp- 
411 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

ture,  shone  forth  more  brilliantly  then  than  ever 
since,  because  then  the  conditions  favouring  its 
development  were  more  perfectly  combined  than 
they  have  since  been.  Now,  a  condition  of  so- 
ciety in  which  the  multitude  can  always  be  made 
to  stand  quietly  and  listen  to  a  logical  discourse  is 
a  condition  of  high  culture.  Readers  of  Xeno- 
phon's  Anabasis  will  remember  the  frequency 
of  the  speeches  in  that  charming  book.  When- 
ever some  terrible  emergency  arose,  or  some 
alarming  quarrel  or  disheartening  panic  occurred, 
in  the  course  of  the  retreat  of  the  Ten  Thou- 
sand, an  oration  from  one  of  the  commanders 
—  not  a  demagogue's  appeal  to  the  lower  pas- 
sions, but  a  calm  exposition  of  circumstances 
addressed  to  the  sober  judgment  —  usually 
sufficed  to  set  all  things  in  order.  To  my  mind 
this  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  historical 
lessons  conveyed  in  Xenophon's  book.  And 
this  peculiar  kind  of  self-control,  indicative 
of  intellectual  sobriety  and  high  moral  train- 
ing, which  was  more  or  less  characteristic  of 
all  Greeks,  was  especially  characteristic  of  the 
Athenians. 

These  illustrations  will,  I  hope,  suffice  to 
show  that  there  is  nothing  extravagant  in  the 
high  estimate  which  I  have  made  of  Athenian 
culture.  I  have  barely  indicated  the  causes  of 
this  singular  perfection  of  individual  training  in 
the  social  circumstances  amid  which  the  Athe- 
412 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

nians  lived.  I  have  alleged  it  as  an  instance  of 
what  may  be  accomplished  by  a  well-directed 
leisure,  and  in  the  absence  or  very  scanty  de- 
velopment of  such  a  complex  industrial  life  as 
that  which  surrounds  us  to-day.  But  I  have 
not  yet  quite  done  with  the  Athenians.  Before 
leaving  this  part  of  the  subject,  I  must  mention 
one  further  circumstance  which  tends  to  make 
ancient  life  appear  in  our  eyes  more  sunny 
and  healthy,  and  less  distressed,  than  the  life 
of  modern  times.  And  in  this  instance,  too, 
though  we  are  not  dealing  with  any  immediate 
or  remote  effects  of  leisureliness,  we  still  have 
to  note  the  peculiar  advantage  gained  by  the 
absence  of  a  great  complexity  of  interests  in 
the  ancient  community. 

With  respect  to  religion,  the  Athenians  were 
peculiarly  situated.  They  had  for  the  most 
part  outgrown  the  primitive  terrorism  of  fetich- 
istic  belief.  Save  in  cases  of  public  distress,  as 
in  the  mutilation  of  the  Hermai,  or  in  the  re- 
fusal of  Nikias  to  retreat  from  Syracuse  because 
of  an  eclipse  of  the  moon,  they  were  no  longer, 
like  savages,  afraid  of  the  dark.  Their  keen, 
aesthetic  sense  had  prevailed  to  turn  the  hor- 
rors of  a  primeval  nature-worship  into  beauties. 
Their  springs  and  groves  were  peopled  by  their 
fancy  with  naiads  and  dryads,  not  with  trolls 
and  grotesque  goblins.  Their  feelings  towards 
the  unseen  powers  at  work  about  them  were  in 

413 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  main  pleasant ;  as  witness  the  little  story 
about  Pheidippides  meeting  the  god  Pan  as  he 
was  making  with  hot  haste  toward  Sparta  to 
announce  the  arrival  of  the  Persians.  Now, 
while  this  original  source  of  mental  discomfort, 
which  afflicts  the  uncivilized  man,  had  ceased 
materially  to  affect  the  Athenians,  they  on  the 
other  hand  lived  at  a  time  when  the  vague  sense 
of  sin  and  self-reproof  which  was  characteristic 
of  the  early  ages  of  Christianity  had  not  yet 
invaded  society.  The  vast  complication  of  life 
brought  about  by  the  extension  of  the  Roman 
Empire  led  to  a  great  development  of  human 
sympathies,  unknown  in  earlier  times,  and  called 
forth  unquiet  yearnings,  desire  for  amelioration, 
a  sense  of  short-coming,  and  a  morbid  self-con- 
sciousness. It  is  accordingly  under  Roman 
sway  that  we  first  come  across  characters  approx- 
imating to  the  modern  type,  like  Cicero,  Seneca, 
Epictetus,  and  Marcus  Aurelius.  It  is  then 
that  we  find  the  idea  of  social  progress  first 
clearly  expressed,  that  we  discover  some  glim- 
merings of  a  conscious  philanthropy,  and  that 
we  detect  the  earliest  symptoms  of  that  un- 
healthy tendency  to  subordinate  too  entirely 
the  physical  to  the  moral  life,  which  reached  its 
culmination  in  the  Middle  Ages.  In  the  palmy 
days  of  the  Athenians  it  was  different.  When 
we  hint  that  they  were  not  consciously  philan- 
thropists, we  do  not  mean  that  they  were  not 
414 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

humane  ;  when  we  accredit  them  with  no  idea 
of  progress,  we  do  not  forget  how  much  they 
did  to  render  both  the  idea  and  the  reality  pos- 
sible ;  when  we  say  that  they  had  not  a  distress- 
ing sense  of  spiritual  unworthiness,  we  do  not 
mean  that  they  had  no  conscience.  We  mean 
that  their  moral  and  religious  life  sat  easily  on 
them,  like  their  own  graceful  drapery,  —  did 
not  gall  and  worry  them,  like  the  haircloth  gar- 
ment of  the  monk.  They  were  free  from  that 
dark  conception  of  a  devil  which  lent  terror  to 
life  in  the  Middle  Ages  ;  and  the  morbid  self- 
consciousness  which  led  mediaeval  women  to 
immure  themselves  in  convents  would  have 
been  to  an  Athenian  quite  inexplicable.  They 
had,  in  short,  an  open  and  childlike  conception 
of  religion ;  and,  as  such,  it  was  a  sunny  con- 
ception. Any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble  to 
compare  an  idyl  of  Theokritos  with  a  modern 
pastoral,  or  the  poem  of '  Kleanthes  with  a  mod- 
ern hymn,  or  the  Aphrodite  of  Melos  with  a 
modern  Madonna,  will  realize  most  effectually 
what  I  mean. 

And,  finally,  the  religion  of  the  Athenians 
was  in  the  main  symbolized  in  a  fluctuating 
mythology,  and  had  never  been  hardened  into 
dogmas.  The  Athenian  was  subject  to  no  priest, 
nor  was  he  obliged  to  pin  his  faith  to  any  for- 
mulated creed.  His  hospitable  polytheism  left 
little  room  for  theological  persecution,  and  none 

415 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

for  any  heresy  short  of  virtual  atheism.  The 
feverish  doubts  which  rack  the  modern  mind 
left  him  undisturbed.  Though  he  might  sink 
to  any  depth  of  scepticism  in  philosophy,  yet 
the  eternal  welfare  of  his  soul  was  not  supposed 
to  hang  upon  the  issue  of  his  doubts.  Accord- 
ingly Athenian  society  was  not  only  character- 
ized in  the  main  by  freedom  of  opinion,  in 
spite  oft  the  exceptional  cases  of  Anaxagoras  and 
Sokrates ;  but  there  was  also  none  of  that 
Gothic  gloom  with  which  the  deep-seated  Chris- 
tian sense  of  infinite  responsibility  for  opinion 
has  saddened  modern  religious  life. 

In  these  reflections  I  have  wandered  a  little 
way  from  my  principal  theme,  in  order  more 
fully  to  show  why  the  old  Greek  life  impresses 
us  as  so  cheerful.  Returning  now  to  the  key- 
note with  which  we  started,  let  us  state  suc- 
cinctly the  net  result  of  what  has  been  said 
about  the  Athenians.  As  a  people  we  have  seen 
that  they  enjoyed  an  unparalleled  amount  of 
leisure,  living  through  life  with  but  little  tur- 
moil and  clatter.  Their  life  was  more  sponta- 
neous and  unrestrained,  less  rigorously  marked 
out  by  uncontrollable  circumstances,  than  the 
life  of  moderns.  They  did  not  run  so  much  in 
grooves.  And  along  with  this  we  have  seen 
reason  to  believe  that  they  were  the  most  pro- 
foundly cultivated  of  all  peoples ;  that  a  larger 
proportion  of  men  lived  complete,  well-rounded, 
416 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

harmonious  lives  in  ancient  Athens  than  in 
any  other  known  community.  Keen,  nimble- 
minded,  and  self-possessed  ;  audacious  specu- 
lators, but  temperate  and  adverse  to  extrava- 
gance ;  emotionally  healthy,  and  endowed  with 
an  unequalled  sense  of  beauty  and  propriety  ; 
how  admirable  and  wonderful  they  seem  when 
looked  at  across  the  gulf  of  ages  intervening,  — 
and  what  a  priceless  possession  to  humanity,  of 
what  noble  augury  for  the  distant  future,  is  the 
fact  that  such  a  society  has  once  existed  ! 

The  lesson  to  be  drawn  from  the  study  of 
this  antique  life  will  impress  itself  more  deeply 
upon  us  after  we  have  briefly  contemplated  the 
striking  contrast  to  it  which  is  afforded  by  the 
phase  of  civilization  amid  which  we  live  to-day. 
Ever  since  Greek  civilization  was  merged  in 
Roman  imperialism,  there  has  been  a  slowly 
growing  tendency  towards  complexity  of  social 
life,  —  towards  the  widening  of  sympathies,  the 
multiplying  of  interests,  the  increase  of  the 
number  of  things  to  be  done.  Through  the 
later  Middle  Ages,  after  Roman  civilization  had 
absorbed  and  disciplined  the  incoming  barbar- 
ism which  had  threatened  to  destroy  it,  there 
was  a  steadily  increasing  complication  of  soci- 
ety, a  multiplication  of  the  wants  of  life,  and  a 
consequent  enhancement  of  the  difficulty  of 
self-maintenance.  The  ultimate  causes  of  this 
phenomenon  lie  so  far  beneath  the  surface  that 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

they  could  be  satisfactorily  discussed  only  in  a 
technical  essay  on  the  evolution  of  society.  It 
will  be  enough  for  us  here  to  observe  that  the 
great  geographical  discoveries  of  the  sixteenth 
century  and  the  somewhat  later  "achievements 
of  physical  science  have,  during  the  past  two 
hundred  years,  aided  powerfully  in  determin- 
ing the  entrance  of  the  Western  world  upon 
an  industrial  epoch,  —  an  epoch  which  has  for 
its  final  object  the  complete  subjection  of  the 
powers  of  nature  to  purposes  of  individual  com- 
fort and  happiness.  We  have  now  to  trace 
some  of  the  effects  of  this  lately-begun  indus- 
trial development  upon  social  life  and  individual 
culture.  And  as  we  studied  the  Jeisureliness  of 
antiquity  where  its  effects  were  most  conspicu- 
ous, in  the  city  of  Athens,  we  shall  now  do  well 
to  study  the  opposite  characteristics  of  modern 
society  where  they  are  most  conspicuously  ex- 
emplified, in  our  own  country.  The  attributes 
of  American  life  which  it  will  be  necessary  to 
signalize  will  be  seen  to  be  only  the  attributes 
of  modern  life  in  their  most  exaggerated  phase. 
To  begin  with,  in  studying  the  United  States, 
we  are  no  longer  dealing  with  a  single  city,  or 
with  small  groups  of  cities.  The  city  as  a  polit- 
ical unit,  in  the  antique  sense,  has  never  existed 
among  us,  and  indeed  can  hardly  be  said  now 
to  exist  anywhere.  The  modern  city  is  hardly 
more  than  a  great  emporium  of  trade,  or  a  place 
418 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

where  large  numbers  of  people  find  it  con- 
venient to  live  huddled  together  ;  not  a  sacred 
fatherland  to  which  its  inhabitants  owe  their 
highest  allegiance,  and  by  the  requirements  of 
which  their  political  activity  is  limited.  What 
strikes  us  here  is  that  our  modern  life  is  dif- 
fused or  spread  out,  not  concentrated  like  the 
ancient  civic  life.  If  the  Athenian  had  been  the 
member  of  an  integral  community,  comprising 
all  peninsular  Greece  and  the  mainland  of  Asia 
Minor,  he  could  not  have  taken  life  so  easily  as 
he  did. 

Now  our  country  is  not  only  a  very  large 
one,  but  compared  to  its  vast  territorial  extent 
it  contains  a  very  small  population.  If  we  go 
on  increasing  at  the  present  rate,  so  that  a  cen- 
tury hence  we  number  four  or  five  hundred 
millions,  our  country  will  be  hardly  more 
crowded  than  China  is  to-day.  Or  if  our  whole 
population  were  now  to  be  brought  east  of  Niag- 
ara Falls,  and  confined  on  the  south  by  the  Po- 
tomac, we  should  still  have  as  much  elbow-room 
as  they  have  in  France.  Political  economists  can 
show  the  effects  of  this  high  ratio  of  land  to  in- 
habitants, in  increasing  wages,  raising  the  inter- 
est of  money,  and  stimulating  production.  We 
are  thus  living  amid  circumstances  which  are 
goading  the  industrial  activity  characteristic  of 
the  last  two  centuries,  and  notably  of  the  Eng- 
lish race,  into  an  almost  feverish  energy.  The 
419 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

vast  extent  of  our  unwrought  territory  is  con- 
stantly draining  fresh  life  from  our  older  dis- 
tricts, to  aid  in  the  establishment  of  new  frontier 
communities  of  a  somewhat  lower  or  less  highly 
organized  type.  And  these  younger  commu- 
nities, daily  springing  up,  are  constantly  striving 
to  take  on  the  higher  structure,  —  to  become 
as  highly  civilized  and  to  enjoy  as  many  of  the 
prerogatives  of  civilization  as  the  rest.  All  this 
calls  forth  an  enormous  quantity  of  activity, 
and  causes  American  life  to  assume  the  aspect 
of  a  life-and-death  struggle  for  mastery  over  the 
material  forces  of  that  part  of  the  earth's  surface 
upon  which  it  thrives. 

It  is  thus  that  we  are  traversing  what  may 
properly  be  called  the  barbarous  epoch  of  our 
history,  —  the  epoch  at  which  the  predominant 
intellectual  activity  is  employed  in  achievements 
which  are  mainly  of  a  material  character.  Mili- 
tary barbarism,  or  the  inability  of  communities 
to  live  together  without  frequent  warfare,  has 
been  nearly  outgrown  by  the  whole  Western 
world.  Private  wars,  long  since  made  everywhere 
illegal,  have  nearly  ceased ;  and  public  wars, 
once  continual,  have  become  infrequent.  But 
industrial  barbarism,  by  which  I  mean  the  in- 
ability of  a  community  to  direct  a  portion  of  its 
time  to  purposes  of  spiritual  life,  after  provid- 
ing for  its  physical  maintenance,  —  this  kind  of 
barbarism  the  modern  world  has  by  no  means 
420 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

outgrown.  To-day,  the  great  work  of  life  is  to 
live  ;  while  the  amount  of  labour  consumed  in 
Jiving  has  throughout  the  present  century  been 
rapidly  increasing.  Nearly  the  whole  of  this 
American  community  toils  from  youth  to  old 
age  in  merely  procuring  the  means  for  satisfying 
the  transient  wants  of  life.  Our  time  and  ener- 
gies, our  spirit  and  buoyancy,  are  quite  used  up 
in  what  is  called  "getting  on." 

Another  point  of  difference  between  the 
structure  of  American  and  of  Athenian  society 
must  not  be  left  out  of  the  account.  The  time 
has  gone  by  in  which  the  energies  of  a  hundred 
thousand  men  and  women  could  be  employed 
in  ministering  to  the  individual  perfection  of 
twenty-five  thousand.  Slavery,  in  the  antique 
sense,  —  an  absolute  command  of  brain  as  well 
as  of  muscle,  a  slave-system  of  skilled  labour, 
—  we  have  never  had.  In  our  day  it  is  for  each 
man  to  earn  his  own  bread  ;  so  that  the  struggle 
for  existence  has  become  universal.  The  work 
of  one  class  does  not  furnish  leisure  for  another 
class.  The  exceptional  circumstances  which 
freed  the  Athenian  from  industrial  barbarism, 
and  enabled  him  to  become  the  great  teacher 
and  model  of  culture  for  the  human  race,  have 
disappeared  forever. 

Then  the  general  standard  of  comfortable 
living,  as  already  hinted,  has  been  greatly  raised, 
and  is  still  rising.  What  would  have  satisfied 
421 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

the  ancient  would  seem  to  us  like  penury.  We 
have  a  domestic  life  of  which  the  Greek  knew 
nothing.  We  live  during  a  large  part  of  the 
year  in  the  house.  Our  social  life  goes  on  un- 
der the  roof.  Our  houses  are  not  mere  places 
for  eating  and  sleeping,  like  the  houses  of  the 
ancients.  It  therefore  costs  us  a  large  amount 
of  toil  to  get  what  is  called  shelter  for  our  heads. 
The  sum  which  a  young  married  man,  in  "  good 
society,"  has  to  pay  for  his  house  and  the  fur- 
niture contained  in  it,  would  have  enabled  an 
Athenian  to  live  in  princely  leisure  from  youth 
to  old  age.  The  sum  which  he  has  to  pay  out 
each  year,  to  meet  the  complicated  expense  of 
living  in  such  a  house,  would  have  more  than 
sufficed  to  bring  up  an  Athenian  family.  If 
worthy  Strepsiades  could  have  got  an  Asmodean 
glimpse  of  Fifth  Avenue,  or  even  of  some  un- 
pretending street  in  Cambridge,  he  might  have 
gone  back  to  his  aristocratic  wife  a  sadder  but 
a  more  contented  man. 

Wealth  —  or  at  least  what  would  until  lately 
have  been  called  wealth  —  has  become  essential 
to  comfort ;  while  the  opportunities  for  acquir- 
ing it  have  in  recent  times  been  immensely 
multiplied.  To  get  money  is,  therefore,  the 
chief  end  of  life  in  our  time  and  country.  "  Suc- 
cess in  life  "  has  become  synonymous  with  "  be- 
coming wealthy."  A  man  who  is  successful  in 
what  he  undertakes  is  a  man  who  makes  his 
422 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

employment  pay  him  in  money.  Our  normal 
type  of  character  is  that  of  the  shrewd,  circum- 
spect business  man ;  as  in  the  Middle  Ages  it 
was  that  of  the  hardy  warrior.  And  as  in  those 
days  when  fighting  was  a  constant  necessity, 
and  when  the  only  honourable  way  for  a  gentle- 
man of  high  rank  to  make  money  was  by  free- 
booting,  fighting  came  to  be  regarded  as  an  end 
desirable  in  itself;  so  in  these  days  the  mere 
effort  to  accumulate  has  become  a  source  of 
enjoyment  rather  than  a  means  to  it.  The 
same  truth  is  to  be  witnessed  in  aberrant  types 
of  character.  The  infatuated  speculator  and  the 
close-fisted  millionnaire  are  our  substitutes  for 
the  mediaeval  berserkir,  —  the  man  who  loved 
the  pell-mell  of  a  contest  so  well  that  he  would 
make  war  on  his  neighbour  just  to  keep  his 
hand  in.  In  like  manner,  while  such  crimes  as 
murder  and  violent  robbery  have  diminished  in 
frequency  during  the  past  century,  on  the  other 
hand  such  crimes  as  embezzlement,  gambling 
in  stocks,  adulteration  of  goods,  and  using 
of  false  weights  and  measures,  have  probably 
increased.  If  Dick  Turpin  'were  now  to  be 
brought  back  to  life,  he  would  find  the  New 
York  Custom-House  a  more  congenial  and 
profitable  working-place  than  the  king's  high- 
way. 

The  result  of  this  universal  quest  for  money 
is  that  we  are  always  in  a  hurry.    Our  lives  pass 
423 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

by  in  a  whirl.  It  is  all  labour  and  no  fruition. 
We  work  till  we  are  weary ;  we  carry  our  work 
home  with  us  ;  it  haunts  our  evenings,  and 
disturbs  our  sleep  as  well  as  our  digestion. 
Our  minds  are  so  burdened  with  it  that  our 
conversation,  when  serious,  can  dwell  upon 
little  else.  If  we  step  into  a  railway -car,  or  the 
smoking-room  of  a  hotel,  or  any  other  place 
where  a  dozen  or  two  of  men  are  gathered  to- 
gether, we  shall  hear  them  talking  of  stocks,  of 
investments,  of  commercial  paper,  as  if  there 
were  really  nothing  in  this  universe  worth 
thinking  of,  save  only  the  interchange  of  dol- 
lars and  commodities.  So  constant  and  unre- 
mitted  is  our  forced  application,  that  our  minds 
are  dwarfed  for  everything  except  the  prosecu- 
tion of  the  one  universal  pursuit. 

Are  we  now  prepared  for  the  completing  of 
the  contrast  ?  Must  we  say  that,  as  Athens  was 
the  most  leisurely  and  the  United  States  is  the 
most  hurried  community  known  in  history,  so 
the  Americans  are,  as  a  consequence  of  their 
hurry,  lacking  in  thoroughness  of  culture  ?  Or, 
since  it  is  difficult  to  bring  our  modern  culture 
directly  into  contrast  with  that  of  an  ancient 
community,  let  me  state  the  case  after  a  different 
but  equivalent  fashion.  Since  the  United  States 
presents  only  an  exaggerated  type  of  the  modern 
industrial  community,  since  the  turmoil  of  in- 
cessant money-getting,  which  affects  all  modern 
424 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

communities  in  large  measure,  affects  us  most 
seriously  of  all,  shall  it  be  said  that  we  are,  on 
the  whole,  less  highly  cultivated  than  our  con- 
temporaries in  Western  Europe  ?  To  a  certain 
extent  we  must  confess  that  this  is  the  case. 
In  the  higher  culture  —  in  the  culture  of  the 
whole  man,  according  to  the  antique  idea  —  we 
are  undoubtedly  behind  all  other  nations  with 
which  it  would  be  fair  to  compare  ourselves.  It 
will  not  do  to  decide  a  question  like  this  merely 
by  counting  literary  celebrities,  although  even 
thus  we  should  by  no  means  get  a  verdict  in 
our  favour.  Since  the  beginning  of  this  century, 
England  has  produced  as  many  great  writers 
and  thinkers  as  France  or  Germany  ;  yet  the 
general  status  of  culture  in  England  is  said  — 
perhaps  with  truth  —  to  be  lower  than  it  is  in 
these  countries.  It  is  said  that  the  average 
Englishman  is  less  ready  than  the  average  Ger- 
man or  Frenchman  to  sympathize  with  ideas 
which  have  no  obvious  market-value.  Yet  in 
England  there  is  an  amount  of  high  culture 
among  those  not  professionally  scholars  which 
it  would  be  vain  to  seek  among  ourselves.  The 
purposes  of  my  argument,  however,  require 
that  the  comparison  should  be  made  between 
our  own  country  and  Western  Europe  in  gen- 
eral. Compare,  then,  our  best  magazines  — 
not  solely  with  regard  to  their  intrinsic  excel- 
lence, but  also  with  regard  to  the  way  in  which 
425 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

they  are  sustained  —  with  the  "  Revue  des 
Deux  Mondes  "  or  the  "  Journal  des  Debats." 
Or  compare  our  leading  politicians  with  men 
like  Gladstone,  Disraeli,  or  Sir  G.  C.  Lewis ;  or 
even  with  such  men  as  Brougham  or  Thiers. 
Or  compare  the  slovenly  style  of  our  newspaper 
articles,  I  will  not  say  with  the  exquisite  prose 
of  the  lamented  Prevost-Paradol,  but  with  the 
ordinary  prose  of  the  French  or  English  news- 
paper. But  a  far  better  illustration  —  for  it  goes 
down  to  the  root  of  things  —  is  suggested  by 
the  recent  work  of  Matthew  Arnold  on  the 
schools  of  the  continent  of  Europe.  The  coun- 
try of  our  time  where  the  general  culture  is 
unquestionably  the  highest  is  Prussia.  Now,  in 
Prussia,  they  are  able  to  have  a  Minister  of 
Education,  who  is  a  member  of  the  Cabinet. 
They  are  sure  that  this  minister  will  not  appoint 
or  remove  even  an  assistant  professor  for  po- 
litical reasons.  Only  once,  as  Arnold  tells  us, 
has  such  a  thing  been  done;  and  then  public 
opinion  expressed  itself  in  such  an  emphatic 
tone  of  disapproval  that  the  displaced  teacher 
was  instantly  appointed  to  another  position. 
Nothing  of  this  sort,  says  Arnold,  could  have 
occurred  in  England ;  but  still  less  could  it 
occur  in  America.  Had  we  such  an  educational 
system,  there  would  presently  be  an  "  Educa- 
tion Ring  "  to  control  it.  Nor  can  this  differ- 
ence be  ascribed  to  the  less  eager  political 
426 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

activity  of  Germany.  The  Prussian  state  of 
things  would  have  been  possible  in  ancient 
Athens,  where  political  life  was  as  absorbing 
and  nearly  as  turbulent  as  in  the  United  States. 
The  difference  is  due  to  our  lack  of  faith  in 
culture,  a  lack  of  faith  in  that  of  which  we  have 
not  had  adequate  experience. 

We  lack  culture  because  we  live  in  a  hurry, 
and  because  our  attention  is  given  up  to  pur- 
suits which  call  into  activity  and  develop  but 
one  side  of  us.  On  the  one  hand  contemplate 
Sokrates  quietly  entertaining  a  crowd  in  the 
Athenian  market-place,  and  on  the  other  hand 
consider  Broadway  with  its  eternal  clatter,  and 
its  throngs  of  hurrying  people  elbowing  and 
treading  on  each  other's  heels,  and  you  will  get 
a  lively  notion  of  the  difference  between  the 
extreme  phases  of  ancient  and  modern  life.  By 
the  time  we  have  thus  rushed  through  our  day, 
we  have  no  strength  left  to  devote  to  things 
spiritual.  To-day  finds  us  no  nearer  fruition 
than  yesterday.  And  if  perhaps  the  time  at 
last  arrives  when  fruition  is  practicable,  our 
minds  have  run  so  long  in  the  ruts  that  they 
cannot  be  twisted  out. 

As  it  is  impossible  for  any  person  living 
in  a  given  state  of  society  to  keep  himself 
exempt  from  its  influences,  detrimental  as  well 
as  beneficial,  we  find  that  even  those  who  strive 
to  make  a  literary  occupation  subservient  to 
427 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

purposes  of  culture  are  not,  save  in  rare  cases, 
spared  by  the  general  turmoil.  Those  who 
have  at  once  the  ability,  the  taste,  and  the 
wealth  needful  for  training  themselves  to  the 
accomplishment  of  some  many-sided  and  per- 
manent work  are  of  course  very  few.  Nor  have 
our  universities  yet  provided  themselves  with 
the  means  for  securing  to  literary  talent  the 
leisure  which  is  essential  to  complete  mental 
development,  or  to  a  high  order  of  productive- 
ness. Although  in  most  industrial  enterprises 
we  know  how  to  work  together  so  successfully, 
in  literature  we  have  as  yet  no  co-operation. 
We  have  not  only  no  Paris,  but  we  have  not 
even  a  Tubingen,  a  Leipsic,  or  a  Jena,  or  any- 
thing corresponding  to  the  fellowships  in  the 
English  universities.  Our  literary  workers 
have  no  choice  but  to  fall  into  the  ranks,  and 
make  merchandise  of  their  half-formed  ideas. 
They  must  work  without  co-operation,  they 
must  write  in  a  hurry,  and  they  must  write  for 
those  who  have  no  leisure  for  aught  but  hasty 
and  superficial  reading. 

Bursting  boilers  and  custom-house  frauds 
may  have  at  first  sight  nothing  to  do  with  each 
other  or  with  my  subject.  It  is  indisputable, 
however,  that  the  horrible  massacres  perpetrated 
every  few  weeks  or  months  by  our  common 
carriers,  and  the  disgraceful  peculation  in  which 
we  allow  our  public  servants  to  indulge  with 
428 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

hardly  ever  an  effective  word  of  protest,  are 
alike  to  be  ascribed  to  the  same  causes  which 
interfere  with  our  higher  culture.  It  is  by  no 
means  a  mere  accidental  coincidence  that  for 
every  dollar  stolen  by  government  officials  in 
Prussia,  at  least  fifty  or  a  hundred  are  stolen 
in  the  United  States.  This  does  not  show  that 
the  Germans  are  our  superiors  in  average  hon- 
esty, but  it  shows  that  they  are  our  superiors 
in  thoroughness.  It  is  with  them  an  impera- 
tive demand  that  any  official  whatever  shall 
be  qualified  for  his  post ;  a  principle  of  public 
economy  which  in  our  country  is  not  simply 
ignored  in  practice,  but  often  openly  laughed 
at.  But  in  a  country  where  high  intelligence 
and  thorough  training  are  imperatively  de- 
manded, it  follows  of  necessity  that  these  quali- 
fications must  insure  for  their  possessors  a 
permanent  career  in  which  the  temptations  to 
malfeasance  or  dishonesty  are  reduced  to  the 
minimum.  On  the  other  hand,  in  a  country 
where  intelligence  and  training  have  no  surety 
that  they  are  to  carry  the  day  against  stupidity 
and  inefficiency,  the  incentives  to  dishonourable 
conduct  are  overpowering.  The  result  in  our 
own  political  life  is  that  the  best  men  are  driven 
in  disgust  from  politics,  and  thus  one  of  the 
noblest  fields  for  the  culture  of  the  whole  man 
is  given  over  to  be  worked  by  swindlers  and 
charlatans.  To  an  Athenian  such  a  severance 
429 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

of  the  highest  culture  from  political  life  would 
have  been  utterly  inconceivable.  Obviously  the 
deepest  explanation  of  all  this  lies  in  our  lack 
of  belief  in  the  necessity  for  high  and  thorough 
training.  We  do  not  value  culture  enough  to 
keep  it  in  our  employ  or  to  pay  it  for  its  ser- 
vices ;  and  what  is  this  short-sighted  negligence 
but  the  outcome  of  the  universal  shiftlessness 
begotten  of  the  habit  of  doing  everything  in  a 
hurry  ?  On  every  hand  we  may  see  the  fruits 
of  this  shiftlessness,  from  buildings  that  tumble 
in,  switches  that  are  misplaced,  furnaces  that  are 
ill-protected,  fire-brigades  that  are  without  dis- 
cipline, up  to  unauthorized  meddlings  with  the 
currency,  and  revenue  laws  which  defeat  their 
own  purpose. 

I  said  above  that  the  attributes  of  American 
life  which  we  should  find  it  necessary  for  our 
purpose  to  signalize  are  simply  the  attributes 
of  modern  life  in  their  most  exaggerated  phase. 
Is  there  not  a  certain  sense  in  which  all  modern 
handiwork  is  hastily  and  imperfectly  done  ?  To 
begin  with  common  household  arts,  does  not 
every  one  know  that  old  things  are  more  dur- 
able than  new  things  ?  Our  grandfathers  wore 
better  shoes  than  we  wear,  because  there  was 
leisure  enough  to  cure  the  leather  properly.  In 
old  times  a  chair  was  made  of  seasoned  wood, 
and  its  joints  carefully  fitted ;  its  maker  had 
leisure  to  see  that  it  was  well  put  together. 

430 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

Now  a  thousand  are  turned  off  at  once  by 
machinery,  out  of  green  wood,  and,  with  their 
backs  glued  on,  are  hurried  off  to  their  evil 
fate,  —  destined  to  drop  in  pieces  if  they  happen 
to  stand  near  the  fireplace,  and  liable  to  collapse 
under  the  weight  of  a  heavy  man.  Some  of  us 
still  preserve,  as  heirlooms,  old  tables  and  bed- 
steads of  Cromwellian  times :  in  the  twenty- 
first  century  what  will  have  become  of  our 
machine-made  bedsteads  and  tables  ? 

Perhaps  it  may  seem  odd  to  talk  about  tan- 
ning and  joinery  in  connection  with  culture,  but 
indeed  there  is  a  subtle  bond  of  union  holding 
together  all  these  things.  Any  phase  of  life  can 
be  understood  only  by  associating  with  it  some 
different  phase.  Sokrates  himself  has  taught 
us  how  the  homely  things  illustrate  the  grand 
things.  If  we  turn  to  the  art  of  musical  com- 
position, and  inquire  into  some  of  the  differ- 
ences between  our  recent  music  and  that  of 
Handel's  time,  we  shall  alight  upon  the  very 
criticism  which  Mr.  Mill  somewhere  makes  in 
comparing  ancient  with  modern  literature  :  the 
substance  has  improved,  but  the  form  has  in 
some  respects  deteriorated.  The  modern  music 
expresses  the  results  of  a  richer  and  more  varied 
emotional  experience,  and  in  wealth  of  harmonic 
resources,  to  say  nothing  of  increased  skill  in 
orchestration,  it  is  notably  superior  to  the  old 
music.  Along  with  this  advance,  however,  there 

43 1 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

is  a  perceptible  falling  off  in  symmetry  and  com- 
pleteness of  design,  and  in  what  I  would  call 
spontaneousness  of  composition.  I  believe  that 
this  is  because  modern  composers,  as  a  rule,  do 
not  drudge  patiently  enough  upon  counterpoint. 
They  do  not  get  that  absolute  mastery  over 
technical  difficulties  of  figuration  which  was  the 
great  secret  of  the  incredible  facility  and  spon- 
taneity of  composition  displayed  by  Handel 
and  Bach.  Among  recent  musicians  Mendels- 
sohn is  the  most  thoroughly  disciplined  in  the 
elements  of  counterpoint ;  and  it  is  this  perfect 
mastery  of  the  technique  of  his  art  which  has 
enabled  him  to  outrank  Schubert  and  Schu- 
mann, neither  of  whom  would  one  venture  to 
pronounce  inferior  to  him  in  native  wealth  of 
musical  ideas.  May  we  not  partly  attribute 
to  rudimentary  deficiency  in  counterpoint  the 
irregularity  of  structure  which  so  often  disfig- 
ures the  works  of  the  great  Wagner  and  the 
lesser  Liszt,  and  which  the  more  ardent  admir- 
ers of  these  composers  are  inclined  to  regard  as 
a  symptom  of  progress  ? 

I  am  told  that  a  similar  illustration  might  be 
drawn  from  the  modern  history  of  painting ; 
that,  however  noble  the  conceptions  of  the  great 
painters  of  the  present  century,  there  are  none 
who  have  gained  such  a  complete  mastery  over 
the  technicalities  of  drawing  and  the  handling 
of  the  brush  as  was  required  in  the  times  of 
432 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

Raphael,  Titian,  and  Rubens.  But  on  this 
point  I  can  only  speak  from  hearsay,  and  am 
quite  willing  to  end  here  my  series  of  illus- 
trations, fearing  that  I  may  already  have  been 
wrongly  set  down  as  a  laudator  temporis  acti. 
Not  the  idle  praising  of  times  gone  by,  but  the 
getting  a  lesson  from  them  which  may  be  of 
use  to  us,  has  been  my  object.  And  I  believe 
enough  has  been  said  to  show  that  the  great 
complexity  of  modern  life,  with  its  multiplicity 
of  demands  upon  our  energy,  has  got  us  into 
a  state  of  chronic  hurry,  the  results  of  which 
are  everywhere  to  be  seen  in  the  shape  of  less 
thorough  workmanship  and  less  rounded  cul- 
ture. 

For  one  moment  let  me  stop  to  note  a  further 
source  of  the  relative  imperfection  of  modern 
culture,  which  is  best  illustrated  in  the  case  of 
literature.  I  allude  to  the  immense,  unorganized 
mass  of  literature  in  all  departments,  represent- 
ing the  accumulated  acquisitions  of  past  ages, 
which  must  form  the  basis  of  our  own  achieve- 
ment, but  with  which  our  present  methods  of 
education  seem  inadequate  to  deal  properly. 
Speaking  roughly,  modern  literature  may  be 
said  to  be  getting  into  the  state  which  Roman 
jurisprudence  was  in  before  it  was  reformed  by 
Justinian.  Philosophic  criticism  has  not  yet 
reached  the  point  at  which  it  may  serve  as  a 
natural  codifier.  We  must  read  laboriously  and 

433 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

expend  a  disproportionate  amount  of  time  and 
pains  in  winnowing  the  chaff  from  the  wheat. 
This  tends  to  make  us  "  digs "  or  literary 
drudges  ;  but  I  doubt  if  the  "  dig  "  is  a  thor- 
oughly developed  man.  Goethe,  with  all  his 
boundless  knowledge,  his  universal  curiosity, 
and  his  admirable  capacity  for  work,  was  not  a 
"  dig."  But  this  matter  can  only  be  hinted  at : 
it  is  too  large  to  be  well  discussed  at  the  fag  end 
of  an  essay  while  other  points  are  pressing  for 
consideration. 

A  state  of  chronic  hurry  not  only  directly 
hinders  the  performance  of  thorough  work,  but 
it  has  an  indirect  tendency  to  blunt  the  enjoy- 
ment of  life.  Let  us  consider  for  a  moment  one 
of  the  psychological  consequences  entailed  by 
the  strain  of  a  too  complex  and  rapid  activity. 
Every  one  must  have  observed  that  in  going 
off  for  a  vacation  of  two  or  three  weeks,  or  in 
getting  freed  in  any  way  from  the  ruts  of  every- 
day life,  time  slackens  its  gait  somewhat,  and  the 
events  which  occur  are  apt  a  few  years  later  to 
cover  a  disproportionately  large  area  in  our  re- 
collections. This  is  because  the  human  organism 
is  a  natural  timepiece  in  which  the  ticks  are  con- 
scious sensations.  The  greater  the  number  of 
sensations  which  occupy  the  foreground  of  con- 
sciousness during  the  day,  the  longer  the  day 
seems  in  the  retrospect.  But  the  various  groups 
of  sensations  which  accompany  our  daily  work 
434 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

tend  to  become  automatic  from  continual  repe- 
tition, and  to  sink  into  the  background  of  con- 
sciousness ;  and  in  a  very  complex  and  busied 
life  the  number  of  sensations  or  states  of  con- 
sciousness which  can  struggle  up  to  the  front 
and  get  attended  to,  is  comparatively  small.  It 
is  thus  that  the  days  seem  so  short  when  we  are 
busy  about  every-day  matters,  and  that  they  get 
blurred  together,  and  as  it  were  individually 
annihilated  in  recollection.  When  we  travel,  a 
comparatively  large  number  of  fresh  sensations 
occupy  attention,  there  is  a  maximum  of  con- 
sciousness, and  a  distinct  image  is  left  to  loom 
up  in  memory.  For  the  same  reason  the  weeks 
and  years  are  much  longer  to  the  child  than  to 
the  grown  man.  The  life  is  simpler  and  less 
hurried,  so  that  there  is  time  to  attend  to  a  great 
many  sensations.  Now  this  fact  lies  at  the  bot- 
tom of  that  keen  enjoyment  of  existence  which 
is  the  prerogative  of  childhood  and  early  youth. 
The  day  is  not  rushed  through  by  the  automatic 
discharge  of  certain  psychical  functions,  but  each 
sensation  stays  long  enough  to  make  itself  re- 
cognized. Now  when  once  we  understand  the 
psychology  of  this  matter,  it  becomes  evident 
that  the  same  contrast  that  holds  between  the 
child  and  the  man  must  hold  also  between  the 
ancient  and  the  modern.  The  number  of  ele- 
ments entering  into  ancient  life  were  so  few 
relatively,  that  there  must  have  been  far  more 

435 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

than  there  is  now  of  that  intense  realization  of 
life  which  we  can  observe  in  children  and  remem- 
ber of  our  own  childhood.  Space  permitting,  it 
would  be  easy  to  show  from  Greek  literature 
how  intense  was  this  realization  of  life.  But  my 
point  will  already  have  been  sufficiently  appre- 
hended. Already  we  cannot  fail  to  see  how  dif- 
ficult it  is  to  get  more  than  a  minimum  of  con- 
scious fruition  out  of  a  too  complex  and  rapid 
activity. 

One  other  point  is  worth  noticing  before  we 
close.  How  is  this  turmoil  of  modern  existence 
impressing  itself  upon  the  physical  constitutions 
of  modern  men  and  women  ?  When  an  indi- 
vidual man  engages  in  furious  productive  ac- 
tivity, his  friends  warn  him  that  he  will  break 
down.  Does  the  collective  man  of  our  time  need 
some  such  friendly  warning  ?  Let  us  first  get  a 
hint  from  what  foreigners  think  of  us  ultra-mod- 
ernized Americans.  Wandering  journalists,  of 
an  ethnological  turn  of  mind,  who  visit  these 
shores,  profess  to  be  struck  with  the  slenderness, 
the  apparent  lack  of  toughness,  the  dyspeptic 
look,  of  the  American  physique.  And  from  such 
observations  it  has  been  seriously  argued  that 
the  stalwart  English  race  is  suffering  inevitable 
degeneracy  in  this  foreign  climate.  I  have  even 
seen  it  doubted  whether  a  race  of  men  can  ever 
become  thoroughly  naturalized  in  a  locality  to 
which  it  is  not  indigenous.  To  such  vagaries  it 
436 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

is  a  sufficient  answer  that  the  English  are  no 
more  indigenous  to  England  than  to  America. 
They  are  indigenous  to  Central  Asia,  and  as 
they  have  survived  the  first  transplantation,  they 
may  be  safely  counted  on  to  survive  the  second. 
A  more  careful  survey  will  teach  us  that  the  slow 
alteration  of  physique  which  is  going  on  in  this 
country  is  only  an  exaggeration  of  that  which 
modern  civilization  is  tending  to  bring  about 
everywhere.  It  is  caused  by  the  premature  and 
excessive  strain  upon  the  mental  powers  requi- 
site to  meet  the  emergencies  of  our  complex  life. 
The  progress  of  events  has  thrown  the  work  of 
sustaining  life  so  largely  upon  the  brain  that  we 
are  beginning  to  sacrifice  the  physical  to  the  in- 
tellectual. We  are  growing  spirituelle  in  appear- 
ance at  the  expense  of  robustness.  Compare 
any  typical  Greek  face,  with  its  firm  muscles, 
its  symmetry  of  feature,  and  its  serenity  of  ex- 
pression, to  a  typical  modern  portrait,  with  its 
more  delicate  contour,  its  exaggerated  forehead, 
its  thoughtful,  perhaps  jaded  look.  Or  consider 
in  what  respects  the  grand  faces  of  the  Plan- 
tagenet  monarchs  differ  from  the  refined  counte- 
nances of  the  leading  English  statesmen  of  to- 
day. Or  again,  consider  the  familiar  pictures  of 
the  Oxford  and  Harvard  crews  which  rowed  a 
race  on  the  Thames  in  1869,  and  observe  how 
much  less  youthful  are  the  faces  of  the  Ameri- 
cans. By  contrast  they  almost  look  careworn. 

437 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

The  summing  up  of  countless  such  facts  is  that 
modern  civilization  is  making  us  nervous.  Our 
most  formidable  diseases  are  of  nervous  origin. 
We  seem  to  have  got  rid  of  the  mediaeval  plague 
and  many  of  its  typhoid  congeners  ;  but  instead 
we  have  an  increased  amount  of  insanity,  metho- 
mania,  consumption,  dyspepsia,  and  paralysis. 
In  this  fact  it  is  plainly  written  that  we  are  suf- 
fering physically  from  the  over-work  and  over- 
excitement  entailed  by  excessive  hurry. 

In  view  of  these  various  but  nearly  related 
points  of  difference  between  ancient  and  modern 
life  as  studied  in  their  extreme  manifestations, 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  while  we  have  gained 
much,  we  have  also  lost  a  good  deal  that  is  valu- 
able, in  our  progress.  We  cannot  but  suspect 
that  we  are  not  in  all  points  more  highly  favoured 
than  the  ancients.  And  it  becomes  probable  that 
Athens,  at  all  events,  which  I  have  chosen  as 
my  example,  may  have  exhibited  an  adumbration 
of  a  state  of  things  which,  for  the  world  at  large, 
is  still  in  the  future,  —  still  to  be  remotely  hoped 
for.  The  rich  complexity  of  modern  social 
achievement  is  attained  at  the  cost  of  individual 
many-sidedness.  As  Tennyson  puts  it,  "  The 
individual  withers  and  the  world  is  more  and 
more."  Yet  the  individual  does  not  exist  for 
the  sake  of  society,  as  the  positivists  would  have 
us  believe,  but  society  exists  for  the  sake  of  the 
individual.  And  the  test  of  complete  social  life 

438 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

is  the  opportunity  which  it  affords  for  com- 
plete individual  life.  Tried  by  this  test,  our 
contemporary  civilization  will  appear  seriously 
defective,  —  excellent  only  as  a  preparation  for 
something  better. 

This  is  the  true  light  in  which  to  regard  it. 
This  incessant  turmoil,  this  rage  for  accumula- 
tion of  wealth,  this  crowding,  jostling,  and  tram- 
pling upon  one  another,  cannot  be  regarded  as 
permanent,  or  as  anything  more  than  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  transitional  stage  of  civilization. 
There  must  be  a  limit  to  the  extent  to  which 
the  standard  of  comfortable  living  can  be  raised. 
The  industrial  organization  of  society,  which  is 
now  but  beginning,  must  culminate  in  a  state 
of  things  in  which  the  means  of  expense  will  ex- 
ceed the  demand  for  expense,  in  which  the  hu- 
man race  will  have  some  surplus  capital.  The 
incessant  manual  labour  which  the  ancients  rele- 
gated to  slaves  will  in  course  of  time  be  more 
and  more  largely  performed  by  inanimate  ma- 
chinery. Unskilled  labour  will  for  the  most 
part  disappear.  Skilled  labour  will  consist  in 
the  guiding  of  implements  contrived  with  ver- 
satile cunning  for  the  relief  of  human  nerve  and 
muscle.  Ultimately  there  will  be  no  unsettled 
land  to  fill,  no  frontier  life,  no  savage  races  to 
be  assimilated  or  extirpated,  no  extensive  mi- 
gration. Thus  life  will  again  become  compara- 
tively stationary.  The  chances  for  making  great 
439 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

fortunes  quickly  will  be  diminished,  while  the 
facilities  for  acquiring  a  competence  by  steady 
labour  will  be  increased.  When  every  one  is 
able  to  reach  the  normal  standard  of  comfort- 
able living,  we  must  suppose  that  the  exagger- 
ated appetite  for  wealth  and  display  will  gradu- 
ally disappear.  We  shall  be  more  easily  satisfied, 
and  thus  enjoy  more  leisure.  It  may  be  that 
there  will  ultimately  exist,  over  the  civilized 
world,  conditions  as  favourable  to  the  complete 
fruition  of  life  as  those  which  formerly  existed 
within  the  narrow  circuit  of  Attika  ;  save  that 
the  part  once  played  by  enslaved  human  brain 
and  muscle  will  finally  be  played  by  the  en- 
slaved forces  of  insentient  nature.  Society  will 
at  last  bear  the  test  of  providing  for  the  com- 
plete development  of  its  individual  members. 

So,  at  least,  we  may  hope ;  such  is  the  prob- 
ability which  the  progress  of  events,  when  care- 
fully questioned,  sketches  out  for  us.  "  Need 
we  fear,"  asks  Mr.  Greg,  "  that  the  world  would 
stagnate  under  such  a  change  ?  Need  we  guard 
ourselves  against  the  misconstruction  of  being 
held  to  recommend  a  life  of  complacent  and  in- 
glorious inaction  ?  We  think  not.  We  would 
only  substitute  a  nobler  for  a  meaner  strife,  — 
a  rational  for  an  excessive  toil,  —  an  enjoyment 
that  springs  from  serenity  for  one  that  springs 
from  excitement  only.  .  .  .  To  each  time  its 
own  preacher,  to  each  excess  its  own  counterac- 
440 


ATHENIAN  AND  AMERICAN  LIFE 

tion.  In  an  age  of  dissipation,  languor,  and  stag- 
nation we  should  join  with  Mr.  Carlyle  in  preach- 
ing the  c  Evangel  of  Work,'  and  say  with  him, 
c  Blessed  is  the  man  who  has  found  his  work, — 
let  him  ask  no  other  blessedness.'  In  an  age  of 
strenuous,  frenzied,  .  .  .  and  often  utterly  irra- 
tional and  objectless  exertion,  we  join  Mr.  Mill 
in  preaching  the  milder  and  more  needed4  Evan- 
gel of  Leisure.' ' 

Bearing  all  these  things  in  mind,  we  may  un- 
derstand the  remark  of  the  supremely  cultivated 
Goethe,  when  asked  who  were  his  masters  :  Die 
Griechen,  die  Griechen,  und  immer  die  Griechen. 
We  may  appreciate  the  significance  of  Mr. 
Mill's  argument  in  favour  of  the  study  of  anti- 
quity, that  it  preserves  the  tradition  of  an  era 
of  individual  completeness.  There  is  a  disposi- 
tion growing  among  us  to  remodel  our  methods 
of  education  in  conformity  with  the  temporary 
requirements  of  the  age  in  which  we  live.  In 
this  endeavour  there  is  much  that  is  wise  and 
practical  ;  but  in  so  far  as  it  tends  to  the  neglect 
of  antiquity,  I  cannot  think  it  well-timed.  Our 
education  should  not  only  enhance  the  value  of 
what  we  possess  ;  it  should  also  supply  the  con- 
sciousness of  what  we  lack.  And  while,  for  gen- 
erations to  come,  we  pass  toilfully  through  an 
era  of  exorbitant  industrialism,  some  fragment 
of  our  time  will  not  be  misspent  in  keeping 
alive  the  tradition  of  a  state  of  things  which  was 
441 


THE  UNSEEN  WORLD 

once  briefly  enjoyed  by  a  little  community,  but 
which,  in  the  distant  future,  will,  as  it  is  hoped, 
become  the  permanent  possession  of  all  man- 
kind. 

January ',  1873. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ABULPHARAGIUS  on  the  Alexandrian 
Library,  2.26. 

Acts  of  the  Apostles,  garbled  state- 
ments of,  90,  109  ;  authorship 
of,  100. 

./Eons,  Gnostic  theory  of,  156. 

Ahriman,  156. 

Alexandrian  Library,  the  legend  of 
its  destruction  by  Omar,  2.24, 
227  ;  Mahometanism  and,  2,25  ; 
Abulpharagius  on  the  burning  of, 
2.26 ;  destroyed  by  Theophilus, 
227. 

Alger,  W.  R.,  The  End  of  the 
World  and  the  Day  of  Judgment, 
133. 

Ambros,  A.  W.,  on  vocal  and  in- 
strumental music,  361. 

American  civilization  defective,  439. 

American  life,  restlessness  and  hurry 

of»  395.  396>  4^3.  4*4,  433  > 
complexity  of,  417,  418,  433, 
437,  438;  necessity  of  work  in, 

421  ;    standard   of  living,    421, 

422  ;    lack  of  culture  in,  424- 
427,  433  ;  literary  occupation  in, 
hampered,  427,  428  ;  intelligence 
and  training  count  for  little,  428- 
430  ;  lack  of  thoroughness,  430— 

433- 

American  physique,  436. 

Amrou,  capture  of  Alexandria,  226, 
227. 

Anaxagoras,  416. 

Antioch,  Council  of,  on  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity,  1 68. 

Antique  in  literature,  eighteenth- 
century  reproduction  of,  340  ;  a 
real  reproduction  of,  343. 


Antiquity,  study  of,  in  education, 
441. 

Antwerp,  famine  during  the  siege  of, 
268-271. 

Apocalypse,  authorship  and  character 
of,  91  ;  doubts  in  regard  to,  95  ; 
expresses  the  dogmatic  views  of 
its  author,  104;  date  of,  133, 
141  ;  and  Jewish  theology,  140 ; 
on  Christ's  second  coming,  141. 

Arab  contributions  to  science,  184. 

Arabic  manuscripts  burned  by  Xi- 
menes,  225. 

Architecture  in  art,  379. 

Aristophanes,  passage  from  Lysis- 
trata,  388. 

Arius,  Christology  of,  1 68. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  on  Paul's  faith, 
143  5  on  translating  Homer,  310, 
311;  on  state  education  in  Prus- 
sia, 426. 

Art,  Taine's  Philosophy  of  Art, 
366,  372-394 ;  imitation  in, 
373—380  ;  genuine  art,  and  man- 
nerism in  art,  374-376  ;  true  re- 
presentation in,  379  ;  and  sci- 
ence, 380  ;  and  social  conditions, 
381  ;  and  the  public,  384  ;  in  his- 
tory, 384  ;  Puritanism  and,  369. 

Artistic  and  critical  genius  com- 
pared, 216,  219. 

Ascension  of  Jesus,  legend  of,  141. 

Athanasian  theory,  134. 

Athenian  and  American  Life,  395- 
442. 

Athens,  ancient,  size  of,  398  ;  popu- 
lation of,  398  ;  slaves  in,  398- 
400  ;  habits  of  life  and  dress  in, 
386,  399  ;  wives  in,  400 ;  cost 


445 


INDEX 


of  living  in,  400  ;  distribution  of 
wealth  in,  400  5  business  and 
money-getting  in,  401  ;  leisure 
in,  399,  401,  416;  great  men 
in,  402  ;  culture  in,  403,  406— 
409,  416;  combined  the  advan- 
tages of  a  large  and  a  small  com- 
munity, 405,  406;  political  and 
judicial  side  of  life  in,  409-412  ; 
oratory  in,  411  ;  moral  and  reli- 
gious life  of  the  inhabitants,  413— 
416;  standard  of  living  in,  421, 
422. 

Athletics,  Greek,  389. 

Atoms,  indestructibleness  of,  3 1 ,  3  3  ; 
indivisibility  of,  33  ;  hardness  of, 
33  ;  invisibility  of,  52  ;  size  of, 
52 ;  vortex  theory  of,  29—36, 

3.8- 

Attika,  dtmcs  of,  398. 
Automatism  of  repeated  impressions, 

434,  435- 

Babbage,  Charles,  Ninth  Bridge- 
•water  Treatise,  43,  73. 

Bach,  J.  S.,  Prelude,  357;  his  fa- 
cility of  composition,  432. 

Baptism  of  Jesus,  114,  152. 

Barbarism  of  present  age,  420. 

Barthelemy  Saint-Hilaire,  Jules,  Ma- 
homet et  le  Coran,  175. 

Bastian,  H.  C.,  on  spontaneous  gen- 
eration, 65. 

Baur,  F.  C.,  and  the  Tubingen 
School,  99  ;  work  on  New  Testa- 
ment literature,  99,  100,  107 ; 
on  the  Pauline  Christ,  150}  an- 
ticipated by  Lessing,  202. 

Beauquier,  on  vocal  and  instrumental 
music,  361. 

Becket,  Thomas  a,    biographers  of, 

93,  "5- 

Beerbhoom,  results  of  famine  of 
1770  in,  259,  260.  See  also 
Bengal. 

Beesly,  E.  S.,  on  Catiline,  223. 

Beethoven,  Ludwig  van,  75,  364; 
the  character  of  his  genius,  218. 

Bengal,  character  of  its  people,  250, 


254,  273  ;  the  famine  of  1770 
in,   251-273;     depopulation    of, 

255,  257,  258  ;  land   laid  waste 
in,   259  ;    inroads    of   tigers    and 
elephants,   260,  261  ;    inroads   of 
barbarians,   261  ;  inroads  of  rob- 
bers and  freebooters,    261 5    com- 
mercial isolation  of  Lower  Ben- 
gal in  1770,  264  ;    speculation  in 
rice    prohibited    in,    267,    271  ; 
famine  of  1866  in,  272,  273. 

Berkeley,  George,  on  idealism,  67. 

Berserkirs,  our  substitutes  for,  423. 

Berthoud,  Henri,  his  hoax  about 
Solomon  de  Caus,  246. 

Biblical  criticism,  Spinoza  and  Les- 
sing its  real  inaugurators,  97, 
202 ;  F.  C.  Baur  the  greatest 
worker  in  this  field,  99  ;  monopo- 
lized by  Germany,  101. 

Boccaccio,  Giovanni,  The  Three 
Rings,  213. 

Boileau  -  Despreaux,  Nicolas,  and 
eighteenth-century  criticism,  341. 

Book-burning  by  fanatics,  224,  225. 

Bossuet,  J.  B.,  prose  of,  408. 

Brain,  molecular  motion  in,  54. 

Bretschneider,  K.  G.,  on  New  Testa- 
ment literature,  97. 

Bridgewater  Treatises,  73. 

Biichner,  F.  K.  C.  L.,  on  nature 
of  consciousness,  47,  54. 

Cadences  in  music,  356. 

Caesar,  Julius,  superstition  of,  1 77. 

Cagny,  Perceval  de,  on  Jeanne  d' Arc, 
234. 

Canon  of  New  Testament,  its  for- 
mation guided  rather  by  dogmatic 
prepossession  than  by  critical  con- 
siderations, 94,  95. 

Cantata  a  high  form  of  music,  365. 

Caraffa,  G.  P.  (Paul  IV.),  and  re- 
form in  the  Church,  284. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  Lectures  on  Hero- 
JVorihip,  311;  on  the  Evangel 
of  Work,  441. 

Cartesian  puzzle  concerning  the  in- 
teraction of  spirit  and  matter,  156. 


446 


INDEX 


Gary,  H.  F.,  translation  of  Dante, 

34i: 

Catharine  de'  Medici  and  massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew,  295. 

Catiline  in  the  light  of  modern  criti- 
cism, 223. 

Caus,  Solomon  de,  false  legend  con- 
cerning, 244,  247.^ 

Causation,  law  of,  universal  assump- 
tion of,  7. 

Cervantes  Saavedra,  M.  de,  charac- 
ter of  his  work,  219  ;  greatness 
of,  304. 

Charles  the  Bold,  290. 

Charles  V.  of  Spain,  Protestant  Re- 
formation in  the  reign  of,  282  j 
character  of,  290;  and  Luther, 
291. 

Charles  VII.  of  France  and  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  241. 

Chemical  composition  of  stars  like 
that  of  sun  and  planets,  19. 

Cherbuliez,  Victor,  Lessing  and  the- 
ology, 204. 

Chopin,  F.  F.,  melody  of,  75,  384. 

Christ  of  Dogma,   The,  133-169. 

Christianity,  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection essential  to,  135,  144; 
Pauline  theory  of  a  future  life 
and,  149 ;  incentive  to  holiness 
in,  150;  compared  with  religion 
of  the  ancient  Athenians,  414- 
416. 

Christology,  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection in,  135—150  ;  Jewish  sys- 
tem of,  154;  Hellenic  system  of, 
155;  Gnosticism  in,  157-1615 
the  Logos  in,  162,  163;  the 
fourth  gospel  in,  164-167;  doc- 
trine of  the  Trinity  in,  1 68. 

Cicero  in  the  light  of  modern  criti- 
cism, 222. 

City,  the  ancient  Greek,  385  ;  an- 
cient and  modern  compared,  418, 
419. 

Clairvoyance,  57. 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  on  the  au- 
thorship of  the  fourth  gospel,  95  ; 
Christology  of,  168. 


Clementine  Homilies,  on  the  preex- 
istence  of  Jesus,  157. 

Clifford,  W.  K.,  his  doubts  as  to  the 
eternity  of  mechanical  laws,  23  ; 
his  illustrations  of  vortex  motion, 
29  ;  on  matter  and  ether,  32. 

Colani,  Timothee,  and  Biblical  criti- 
cism, 101. 

Colossians,  Epistle  to  the,  shows 
progress  of  Christian  doctrine, 
133;  on  the  pleroma,  157. 

Commercial  isolation,  a  cause  of 
famine  in  Asia,  264,  265  ;  of 
Lower  Bengal  in  1770,  264;  of 
Orissa  in  1866,  274. 

Consciousness,  nature  of,  46  ;  and 
molecular  motion  in  the  brain, 
54  ;  survival  of  conscious  activity 
apart  from  material  conditions, 
58—63  ;  no  evidence  that  con- 
sciousness survives  the  dissolution 
of  the  brain,  59  ;  in  production 
of  material  phenomena,  67. 

Continuity,  principle  of,  its  universal 
assumption,  7;  in  the  physical  uni- 
verse, 8. 

Copernican  theory,  as  relating  to  hea- 
ven and  hell,  137,  166  ;  as  re- 
lating to  final  causes,  279. 

Corinthians,  First  Epistle  to  the,  on 
Christ's  second  coming,  143  ;  on 
the  resurrection,  151. 

Cosmic  Philosophy,  Outlines  of,  9 ; 
on  consciousness  and  molecular 
motion  in  the  brain,  46,  55  ;  on 
inconceivability,  62  ;  on  Deity  as 
quasi-psychical,  68  ;  on  modern 
thinking,  340. 

Cosmic  theism,  6. 

Cosmical  work,  cessation  of,  23. 

Counterpoint  not  enough  studied  by 
recent  composers,  432. 

Cranmer,  Thomas,  295. 

Creation,  Gnostic  theory  of,  156. 

Critical  and  artistic  genius  compared, 
216,  219. 

Criticism,  and  history,  221-224  ; 
effect  of,  on  some  supposed  histori-. 
cal  events,  221  ;  on  some  histori- 


447 


INDEX 


cal  characters,  222  ;  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  336  ;  in  the  eight- 
eenth century,  337,  338,  340; 
in  the  nineteenth  century,  337, 
340. 

Crocker,  S.  R.,  translation  of  Fi- 
guier's  The  To-morrow  of  Death, 
77-86. 

Culture,  in  ancient  Athens,  403, 
406—409,  416  ;  and  book-know- 
ledge, 403,  404;  lack  of,  in 
America,  424-427,  433  ;  in  Eng- 
land, 425  ;  in  France,  425  ;  in 
Germany,  425,  426  j  modern, 
relative  imperfection  of,  433. 

Custom-houses  and  highwaymen, 
423,  428. 

Dacoits  in  Bengal,  262. 

Daniel,  Book  of,  on  the  coming  of 
the  Messiah,  141. 

Dante  Alighieri,  his  materialistic 
descriptions  of  the  future  life,  60  ; 
intensity  of  imagination  in,  217, 
326  ;  Longfellow's  translation  of 
the  Divine  Comedy ',  310-378  ; 
difficulty  of  translating,  311—325  ; 
compared  with  Homer,  311; 
rhyme  in,  312;  no  grotesqueness 
in,  325—327  ;  eighteenth-century 
criticism  of,  338. 

Davidson,  Samuel,  Introduction  to 
the  New  Testament,  103. 

Death  but  a  transfer  from  one  physi- 
cal state  of  existence  to  another, 
46. 

Deism,  200. 

Deity,  how  far  to  be  regarded  as 
quasi-psychical,  68. 

Delepierre,  Octave,  Historical  Diffi- 
culties and  Contested  Events,  221— 
248. 

Delorme,  Marion,  and  Solomon  de 
Caus,  244. 

Demes  of  Attika,  398. 

Demiurgus  in  Gnosticism,  156. 

Denner,  Balthasar,  his  portraits,  377. 

Descartes,  Rene,  on  thought  and 
matter,  53. 


Designs  of  Jesus  and  his  Disciples, 
The,  196. 

Desire  no  adequate  basis  for  belief, 
72. 

De  Wette,  W.  M.  L.,  and  New 
Testament  literature,  97. 

"Digs,"  434. 

Diogenes  and  his  tub,  392. 

Disciples,  early  Christian,  persecuted 
by  Paul,  130. 

Disciples,  Hellenist,  driven  from  Je- 
rusalem, 130;  date  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  sect,  131;  received 
Paul  into  their  number,  131. 

Disciples,  Petrine,  their  view  of  Jesus* 
mission,  130,  131  ;  unheeded  by 
Paul,  130,  131. 

Diseases,  ancient  and  modern,  438. 

Dissipation  of  energy,  15-18,  21— 
23. 

Docetism,  160,  163. 

Dogmatism,  of  gospel  writers,  92- 
94  ;  obscures  the  history  of  Jesus, 
93  ;  of  Fathers  of  the  Church, 
94 ;  and  New  Testament  litera- 
ture, 96. 

Dominicans,  280. 

Dommer,  Arrey  von,  on  vocal  and 
instrumental  music,  361,  363. 

Drama,  the,  in  Athens,  407. 

Draper,  J.  W.,  A  History  of  the 
Intellectual  Development  of  Eu- 
rope, 182-184;  History  of  the 
Conflict  between  Religion  and  Sci- 
ence, 182-192. 

Dysteleology,  73. 

Earth  formerly  a  fluid  mass,  9. 

Ebionites,  doctrines  of  the,  119;  on 
the  pneuma,  152  ;  misunderstood 
and  forgotten,  167. 

Ecce  Homo  quoted,  210. 

Eckermann,  J.  P.,  his  daily  inter- 
course with  Goethe,  404. 

Edward  I.  of  England  in  the  light  of 
modern  criticism,  222. 

Egmont,  Lamoral,  Count  of,  295. 

Eichhorn,  J.  G.,  and  New  Testa- 
ment literature,  97. 


448 


INDEX 


Eichthal,  Gustave  d',  and  BibEcal 
criticism,  101. 

Elasticity  of  ether,  27,  32,  50. 

Electric  current,  passage  of,  to  mag- 
netic needle  not  demonstrable  but 
thinkable,  56. 

Elephants,  inroads  of,  in  Beerbhoom, 
260,  261. 

Elijah,  the  Prophet,  his  return  from 
the  heavens  as  Jesus,  120,  121  ; 
his  place  in  Jewish  cosmology, 
138. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  in  the  light  of 
modern  criticism,  222  j  republican- 
ism and,  286. 

Emanations,  Gnostic  theory  of,  156. 

End  of  the  world  looked  for  by  early 
Christians,  143. 

Energy,  dissipation  of,  15—18,  ai— 
23.  See  also  Heat  and  Solar  heat. 

England,  culture  in,  425. 

English  language,  relation  of,  to 
other  European  languages,  319  ; 
remarkable  composition  of,  320. 

Enoch,  Book  of,  and  Jewish  theology, 
138,  140. 

Enthusiasm  of  humanity,  the,  210. 

Ephesians,  Epistle  to  the,  shows  pro- 
gress of  Christian  doctrine,  133  ; 
on  the  pleroma,  1 57. 

Essenes,  rise  of  the,  1 1 2  ;  their  doc- 
trines, H2;  John  the  Baptist  as 
a  disciple  of,  112;  legitimate  pre- 
decessors of  Christian  hermits,  113; 
Jesus  probably  not  a  disciple  of, 
113,  119. 

Ether,  friction  attributed  to,  14,  35  ; 
question  as  to  whether  it  is  infinite 
in  extent,  25  ;  character  of,  26— 
29,  48  ;  elasticity  of,  27,  32,  50  ; 
primitive  form  of  matter,  29,  32  ; 
alleged  as  complement  of  the  world 
of  matter,  44. 

Ether-folk,  as  a  part  of  Figuier's 
theory  of  a  future  life,  81—84. 

Evidence,  when  essential  to  a  hypo- 
thesis, 64,  65. 

Existence,  problem  of,  73. 

Experience,  determines  our  capacities 


of  conception,    62  ;  not  infinite, 

6>. 

Extinction  of  species,  6. 

Faces,  ancient  and  modem,  437. 

Fair)-  tales  a  primitive  style  of 
thought,  2. 

Faith,  Paul's  idea  of,  143;  Lessing's 
conception  of,  210. 

Fakeers  in  Bengal,  262. 

Famine,  of  1770  in  Bengal,  249— 
273  ;  action  of  the  government 
during,  252,  263,  267,  271  ; 
depopulation  through  the,  255, 
257,  258  ;  effect  upon  the  coun- 
try, 257-263  ;  causes  of,  264- 
268  ;  of  1866  in  Bengal,  273— 
275  ;  speculation  in  breadstuffs 
during,  273  ;  Orissa  during,  274; 
during  the  siege  of  Antwerp,  268— 
271. 

Farnese,  Alexander,  268,  295. 

Ferdinand  of  Aragon,  290. 

Figuier,  Louis,  The  To-morrow  of 
Death  classed  as  literary  nuisance, 
77,  86  ;  on  the  planets,  79  ;  on 
ether-folk,  8 1—84  ;  on  solar  heat, 
83. 

Fontanes,  Ernest,  Le  Christianisme 
Moderne,  193  ;  on  Lessing's  phi- 
losophy, 203. 

Force,  persistence  of,  7.        . 

Fragments  draivnfrom  the  Papers  of 
an  Anonymous  Writer,  by  G.  E. 
Lessing,  195. 

France,  culture  in,  425. 

Francis  I.,  291. 

Franciscans,  280. 

Frederick  II.  and  power  of  the 
Church,  280. 

Freeman,  E.  A.,   Historical  Essays, 

93»  "5- 

French  Biblical  criticism  "  annexed" 
by  Germany,  101  n. 

French  language  in  relation  to  the 
English  language,  322. 

French  poetry  underrated  by  Eng- 
lish readers,  319. 

French  writers,  and  Biblical  criticism, 


449 


INDEX 


IOI  ;  productiveness  of,  404  ; 
literary  excellence  of,  408. 

Frictionless  fluid,  has  no  more  real 
existence  than  a  line  without 
breadth,  34  ;  Helmholtz's  theory 
of  vortex-motion  in,  30—34. 

Frothingham,  Ellen,  translation  of 
Nathan  the  Wise,  193,  220. 

Froude,  J.  A.,  anecdote  of  Charles 
V.  of  Spain,  291. 

Future  life,  physical  theory  of,  41- 
53  >  psychical  in  constitution,  53, 
56,  67  ;  cannot  be  described,  60  ; 
recognition  of  friends  in,  61  ;  the 
"  Unknown  Power  "  and  the, 
67—76  ;  teleological  solution  of, 
73  ;  the  Jewish  idea  of  retribution 
in,  139,  149. 

Galilee  less  rigidly  Jewish  than  Ju- 
daea, 112. 

Gamaliel,  defence  of  Petrine  disci- 
ples, 130. 

Gehenna,  140,  149. 

Genius,  critical  and  artistic,  compared, 
216,  219;  of  Dante,  217;  of 
Michael  Angelo,  218  ;  of  Bee- 
thoven, 218  ;  of  Shakespeare, 
218. 

Gentiles,  their  share  in  the  Mes- 
sianic kingdom  discussed,  127- 
1 32  ;  their  connection  with  Hel- 
lenists, 131. 

German  language  allied  to  English 
language,  320,  321. 

German  writers  and  Biblical  criti- 
cism, IOI. 

Germany,  slow  in  consolidating  into 
a  nation,  306  ;  culture  in,  425, 
426  ;  character  of  public  servants 
in,  429. 

Ghosts,  origin  of,  49  ;  gross  material- 
istic notion  of,  57. 

Gnosis,  signification  of  the  word, 
156. 

Gnosticism,  its  doctrines,  156  ;  and 
Christology,  157—161;  of  pseudo- 
Pauline  writers,  158-160;  Do- 
cetism,  the  extreme  form  of,  1 60  ; 


and  Philonian  theories,  1 62 }  de- 
cline in  importance  of,  1 68. 

God,  in  nature,  6  ;  a  universal  cause 
of  conscious  states,  68  ;  and  the 
soul,  the  only  conceptions  that  an- 
swer to  real  existences,  69  ;  and 
the  Logo s,  163,  1 68;  Christ 
identified  with,  168,  169. 

Goethe,  J.  W.  von,  his  philosophy 
compared  with  Lessing's,  204 ; 
his  Faust  compared  with  Nathan 
the  Wise,  216  ;  possessed  both 
critical  and  artistic  imagination, 
219 ;  his  Iphigenie,  378  ;  and 
Eckermann,  404;  not  a  "dig," 
434 ;  the  Greeks  his  masters, 
441. 

Goetz,  Melchior,  controversy  with 
Lessing,  196,  206  ;  his  idea  of 
Lessing's  philosophy,  203,  206. 

Gospel,  the  fourth,  no  proof  that  it 
was  written  by  the  apostle  John, 
103—106  ;  harmonizing  of  tra- 
dition and  dogma  in,  164-167; 
its  place  in  Christology,  167,  1 68. 

Gospels,  the  synoptic,  when  and 
where  written,  108. 

Gothic  cathedral,  what  it  expresses, 

379-  . 

Gravitation  as  a  differential  result  of 
pressure,  35. 

Greek  life,  sketch  of,  in  connection 
with  art,  385-394. 

Greek  literary  style,  its  unapproach- 
able perfection,  408. 

Greg,  W.  R.,  on  British  and  For- 
eign Characteristics,  395,  440. 

Guesswork,  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
all  scientific  knowledge,  4  ;  lim- 
ited by  growing  experience,  5-7. 

Hades,  138. 

Handel,  G.  F.,  simplicity  and  sweet- 
ness in,  351,  352  ;  his  facility  of 
composition,  432. 

Hanson,  Sir  Richard,  author  of  The 
Jesus  of  History,  107  n. 

Heat,  generation  and  dissipation  of, 
in  the  solar  system,  12,  15-18, 


450 


INDEX 


21—23;    waste  of,    1 6,    23,  42; 
tends  toward  equalization,  22. 

Heaven  in  Jewish  cosmology,  137. 

Hebrews,  Epistle  to  the,  Gnostic  doc- 
trines in,  158. 

Hebrews,  Gospel  of  the,  153. 

Hecker,  J.  F.  K. ,  Epidemics  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  17*6. 

Hellenist  disciples,  driven  from  Jeru- 
salem, 130;  date  of  appearance 
of,  131;  received  Paul  into  their 
number,  131. 

Helmholtz,  H.  L.  F.,  his  theory  of 
vortex-motion  in  a  frictionless  fluid, 
30—34  ;  his  theory  of  source  of 
solar  heat,  83. 

Henry  IV.  of  France,  republicanism 
and,  286;  character  of,  307. 

Henry  VIII.,  J.  A.  Froudeon,  222  ; 
and  Protestant  Reformation,  281. 

Hephaistos,  390. 

Herod  and  Jesus,  1 20. 

Herodotos  reads  his  History  at  the 
Olympic  games,  409. 

Herschel,  Sir  John,  on  the  elasticity 
of  ether,  27. 

Historical  difficulties,  221-248. 

Historical  sense,  lack  of,  in  eight- 
eenth century  deists,  201. 

History,  Historical  Difficulties  and 
Contested  Events,  221—248  ;  ad- 
vantage of  the  sixteenth  century 
in,  277  ;  and  art,  384. 

Homer,  difficulty  of  translating,  311; 
Pope's  translation  of  the  Iliad, 

341- 

Hunt,  Leigh,  on  Dante,  326,  339. 

Hunter,  W.  W.,  his  powerful  style, 
249  ;  The  Annah  of  Rural  Ben- 
gal, 249. 

Hurry,  of  modern  life,  395,  396, 
423,  424,  433  ;  a  psychological 
consequence  of,  434—436 ;  its 
effect  on  the  physical  constitution, 
436-438. 

Huyghens,  Christian,  on  wave  theory 
of  light,  31,  38. 

Hypothesis,  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
all  scientific  knowledge,  4 ;  as 


guesswork,    4 ;  as   inference,   7  ; 
absence  of  evidence  in,  64,  65. 

Idealism,  66,  67. 

Imagination,  abstract  and  concrete, 
compared,  219  ;  modern  psycho- 
logy and,  219. 

Imitation  in  art,  373—380. 

Immortality  in  physical  universe,  41. 

Inconceivability  of  that  which  is  be- 
yond experience,  62. 

Indivisibfl'ty  of  atoms,  33. 

Interstellar  ether,  question  as  to  its 
extent,  24. 

Irenaeus  on  the  fourth  gospel,  95. 

Isabella  of  Spain,  her  fanaticism  com- 
partdwith  that  of  Philip  II.,  297. 

Italy  slow  in  consolidating  into  a  na- 
tion, 306. 

Jacqueline  of  Holland,  280. 

James,   brother  of  Jesus,  an  enemy 

of  Paul,  112,  128. 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  theory  that  she  was 
not  burnt  at  Rouen,  227-244; 
documents  in  proof  of  theory, 
228—232  ;  criticism  upon  theory, 
234—244;  the  execution  at  Rouen, 
234,  238-240;  taken  prisoner 
by  the  French,  235  ;  sold  to  the 
English  by  Philip,  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy, 236  ;  her  trial  at  Rouen, 
237  ;  her  recantation,  237  ;  her 
possible  escape,  238—242 ;  vir- 
tually disappears  from  history  after 
the  execution,  242. 
Jerusalem,  destruction  of,  no. 
Jesus,  meagreness  of  our  information 
about  him,  88  ;  his  activity  pri- 
vate rather  than  public,  89  ;  his- 
torical records  of  his  life  scanty, 
89-96  ;  left  no  writings  of  his 
own,  90  ;  his  written  history  ob- 
scured by  dogmatism  of  gospel 
writers,  92-94  ;  his  belief  in  him- 
self as  the  Messiah,  92,  115,  120- 
122,  124,  126;  his  birth  and 
date  of  his  ministry,  1 1 1  ;  family 
relations,  in  ;  development  of 


451 


INDEX 


his  opinions,  112,  115,  120-122, 
126  ;  connection  with  John  the 
Baptist,  112-114,  120,  I2J  ;  in- 
fluenced by  Essene  doctrines,  113, 
119,129;  baptism  of,  114,  152  ; 
his  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  115  ; 
his  conception  of  Deity  and  of  bro- 
therhood of  man,  1 1 6 ;  his  al- 
leged hostility  to  the  rich,  117- 
119  ;  his  teachings  not  well  re- 
ceived at  Nazareth,  119;  retires 
to  Syro- Phoenicia,  120 ;  his  grow- 
ing renown,  1 20  ;  his  alleged  pre- 
diction of  his  death,  123  ;  predic- 
tion of  his  resurrection,  123 ; 
entry  into  Jerusalem,  1 24 ;  made 
no  pretence  to  miraculous  power, 
126  ;  questioned  by  the  Pharisees, 
126;  fatal  accusation  of  treason 
brought  against  him,  127  ;  on  the 
restriction  of  his  mission  to  the 
Jews,  127—132;  his  teachings  fol- 
low Pauline  rather  than  Petrine 
doctrine,  132;  his  resurrection, 
135—148;  his  ascension,  141; 
his  second  coming,  141,  143, 
148  ;  not  regarded  as  superhuman 
by  Paul,  150;  reception  of  pneuma 
at  his  baptism,  152;  genealogies 
of,  in  first  and  third  gospels, 
JS3  >  myth  of  his  immaculate 
conception,  153,  159  ;  his  preex- 
istence,  154,  155-161  ;  Gnostic 
doctrine  of  emanations  applied  to 
him  in  Colossians,  Philippians, 
and  Ephesians,  158—161  ;  iden- 
tified with  the  Philonian  Logos 
by  Justin  Martyr,  1 62  ;  described 
as  Son  of  God  in  the  fourth  gos- 
pel, 1 64  ;  finally  identified  with 
God,  1 68  ;  Sir  Richard  Hanson's 
Life  of,  106,  111-127;  Kenan's 
Life  of,  87,  IO2,  105  ;  Strauss's 
Life  of,  98,  107. 

Jesus  of  History,  The,  87-132. 

Jevons,  W.  S.,  on  ether,  27,  50  ; 
Principles  of  Science,  44. 

Jewish  people,  their  reception  of  Je- 
sus in  Jerusalem,  125,  126;  their 


Messiah,  125,  139—141  ;  Jesus' 
mission  and,  127;  their  cos- 
mology, 137;  their  Sheol,  137, 
138,  139;  their  Heaven,  137; 
their  theology,  138;  their  idea 
of  a  future  life,  139,  140. 

John  of  Luxembourg,  235. 

John  the  Apostle,  and  the  fourth 
gospel,  94,  95,  104 ;  the  Apoc- 
alypse of,  95,  133,  141. 

John  the  Baptist,  date  of  his  minis- 
try, in;  connection  with  Es- 
senes,  112;  his  relations  with 
Jesus,  112-114,  120;  beheaded 
by  Herod,  114. 

John  the  Grammarian  and  the  Alex- 
andrian Library,  225,  227. 

Johnson,  Andrew,  point  of  view  in 
regard  to,  224. 

Joseph,  father  of  Jesus,  153. 

Judas,  or  Jude,  brother  of  Jesus, 
epistle  of,  91,  1 1 2. 

Jupiter,  the  planet,  has  short  days, 
n,  80;  heat  of,  12,  79. 

Justin  Martyr,  on  the  fourth  gospel, 
104;  and  Christology,  134,  163  ; 
on  Jesus  and  the  Logos,  1 62. 

Kepler,  Johann,  his  laws  the  result 
of  indefatigable  guessing,  4. 

Kingdom  of  heaven,  its  speedy  com- 
ing, 113. 

Kleanthes,  145. 

Koran,  the,  90. 

Laplace,  P.  S.  de,  nebular  theory, 
10. 

Layard,  A.  H.,  letter  of  Turkish 
cadi  to,  395. 

Leisure,  of  Turkish  life,  395,  396; 
of  Athenian  life,  399,  401,  416  ; 
to  be  attained  in  the  future  in 
American  life,  440,  441. 

Leopardi,  Giacomo,  on  early  transla- 
tors of  the  classics,  345. 

Le  Sage,  G.  L.,  on  gravitation,  35. 

Lesage,  A.  R.,  and  Spain,  304. 

Lessing,  G.  E.,  forerunner  of  the 
Tubingen  School,  97,  202 ;  on 


452 


INDEX 


rewards  and  punishments  after 
death,  150,  208  ;  his  Nathan  the 
PFise,  193-220  ;  his  fame,  193  ; 
publishes  the  Wolfenbiittel  Frag- 
ments, 194-197  ;  contemporary 
with  Goetz,  196-199;  how  Na- 
than the  Whe  came  to  be  written, 
199;  his  position  with  regard  to 
Christianity,  203-206  ;  his  con- 
fession to  Jacob!,  204  ;  his  view 
of  religious  development,  206;  of 
other-worldliness,  208-210  ;  his 
conception  of  faith,  210  ;  char- 
acter of  his  genius,  220  ;  his 
Emilia  Galotti,  220. 

Libraries,  fanatical  destruction  of, 
225.  See  a/so  Alexandrian  Li- 
brary. 

Life,  will  eventually  disappear  from 
solar  system,  13,  23  ;  develop- 
ment of,  the  result  of  solar  heat, 
1 6,  17,  23  ;  of  humanity,  39  ; 
question  of  permanence  of,  40. 

Life,  future.      See  Future  life. 

Life,  social,  ancient  Athenian,  386, 
398-417  ;  simplicity  of,  in  an- 
cient Athens,  405,  413;  com- 
plexity of  modern,  417,  418, 
433;  American,  420-43 1 ;  stan- 
dard of  living  in  ancient  Athens 
and  in  America,  421,  422. 

Light,  partially  absorbed  by  the  ether, 
35  ;  wave  theory  of,  firmly  es- 
tablished, 38. 

Liszt,  Franz,  character  of  his  music, 
432. 

Literary  occupation  in  America  ham- 
pered by  state  of  society,  427, 
428. 

Literature,  uncodified  mass  0^433. 

Llorente,  J.  A.,  on  calumniating 
the  Inquisition,  290. 

Logos,  161,  162;  identified  with 
Jesus,  162,  164,  167. 

Longfellow's  translation  of  The  Di- 
vine Comedy  of  Dante  dlighieri, 
310-346,  378  ;  literalist  methods 
in,  315,  323,  327,  334,  344; 
syntactic  inversion  in,  316;  Ro- 


manic words  preferred  to  Saxon 
in,  318,  323-330  ;  wherein  real- 
istic, 344. 

Lucretian  theory  of  hardness  of 
atoms,  33. 

Luke,  his  Acts  of  the  Apostles, 
90,  100 ;  the  gospel  attributed 
to  (the  third  gospel),  Pauline 
purpose  of,  99,  108,  127;  when 
and  where  written,  108  ;  histori- 
cal accuracy  of,  questioned,  109  ; 
on  Jesus'  alleged  hostility  to  the 
rich,  117-119  ;  genealogy  of 
Jesus  in,  153. 

Luther,  Martin,  and  Charles  V., 
291. 

Lysias,  408. 

Ly  si  strata  of  Aristophanes,  388. 

Lyttelton,  George,  Lord,  tract  on 
the  Conversion  of  St.  Paul,  171. 

Mackay,  R.  W.,  on  the  Tubingen 
School,  99  ;  his  Religious  Develop- 
ment of  the  Greeks  and  Hebrews, 

'SS-. 

Mannerism  in  art,  374. 

Marcion,  on  the  fourth  gospel,  104  ; 
on  Jesus  as  the  Pncuma,  1 60. 

Mark,  loss  of  his  Memorabilia,  96  j 
gospel  attributed  to  him  (the  sec- 
ond gospel),  108,  159;  myth 
of  immaculate  conception  omitted 
by,  159. 

Mars,  the  planet,  79,  80. 

Mary  of  Magdala  and  the  doctrine 
of  the  resurrection,  136. 

Mary  I.  of  England,  292. 

Mary  Stuart,  222. 

Material  phenomena,  and  psychical, 
incommensurable,  53  ;  according 
to  Berkeley,  67. 

Material  substance,  70. 

Materialism  and  consciousness,  47. 

Matter,  concentration  of,  21,  23  ; 
structure  of,  32  ;  question  of  its 
eternal  duration,  35  ;  how  it  re- 
gisters events,  43  ;  mind  and,  48, 
54-56,  58,  67;  as  gross  or  spir- 
itual, 49  ;  mind  always  manifested 


453 


INDEX 


through,  58  ;  as  a  group  of  quali- 
ties, 67;  and  Gnosticism,  156. 
Matthew,  his  Logia,  96,  no;  gos- 
pel attributed  to  him  (the  first 
gospel),  99  ;  date  of,  109  ;  value 
as  a  historical  narrative,  109, 
no;  its  anti-Pauline  bias,  no, 
128  ;  the  genealogy  of  Jesus  in, 

'53- 

Maurice  of  Saxony,  283. 

Mayer,  J.  R.,  on  the  origin  of  solar 
heat,  83. 

Mendelssohn-Bartholdy,  J.  L.  F.,  his 
St.  Paul,  354;  his  mastery  of 
counterpoint,  432. 

Mercury,  the  planet,  79. 

Messiah,  assumption  of  the  charac- 
ter by  Jesus,  92,  115,  I2O-I22, 
124,  126  ;  Essene  notions  of, 
112,  114;  Pharisaic  theory  of, 
114,  121,  139-141  ;  Paul's  con- 
ception of,  151,  165. 

Michael  Angelo  Buonarroti,  his 
Moses,  218  ;  character  of  his 
genius,  374. 

Middle  Ages,  compared  with  age  of 
the  ancient  Athenians,  414,  41 5  ; 
increase  of  complexity  of  life  in, 
417  ;  freebooting  in,  423. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  on  belief  in  a  future  life, 
71  ;  on  rewards  and  punishments, 
208  ;  on  English  and  French  in- 
centives to  virtue,  370 ;  his  breadth 
of  culture,  404  ;  his  comparison  of 
ancient  and  modern  literature, 
431  ;  on  the  study  of  antiquity, 
441. 

Millenarism  of  primitive  church, 
143,  148. 

Miller,  Hugh,  Mosaic  Ftsion  of 
Creation,  167. 

Mind,  and  matter,  48,  54-56,  58, 
67  ;  always  associated  with  mat- 
ter in  our  experience,  58. 

Miracles,  the  conversion  of  the  apos- 
tle Paul  as  a  miracle,  171-175  ; 
state  of  human  intelligence  in  the 
age  of,  176—179;  disproved  by 
the  laws  of  physical  science,  177, 


1 80  ;  must  be  proved  by  contem- 
porary authority,  179. 

Mohammed,  338  ;  compared  with 
Jesus,  92,  i  I5j  1*6. 

Mohammedan  civilization,  compared 
with  Christian,  185,  1 86  ;  Dr. 
Draper  on,  185. 

Molecules,    material,    structure    of, 


32. 


Moleschott,  Jacob,  on  nature  or 
consciousness,  47. 

Monotheism,  some  form  of,  de- 
manded, 145. 

Moon,  formerly  a  part  of  the  earth's 
zone,  9  ;  now  a  cold  body,  12. 

Moons,  more  abundant  among  the 
outer  planets,  u. 

Moors,  conquered  by  the  Spaniards, 
302  ;  driven  from  Spain,  303. 

Mosaism,  the  law  of,  transformed  by 
Jesus,  129,  131,  132;  Paul's 
idea  of,  143. 

Motion,  of  the  planets,  10-15  5  ^ 
heat,  15  ;  vortex,  29. 

Motley,  J.  L. ,  History  of  the  United 
Netherlands,  276-309. 

Mozart,  W.  A.,  cadence  in  his 
Twelfth  Mass,  357. 

Muhamad  Efendi,  209. 

Muhamad  Reza  Khan  and  the  fam- 
ine in  Bengal,  252. 

Music,  vocal  and  instrumental  com- 
pared, 361  ;  as  an  expression  of 
emotions,  362-364  ;  old  and  new 
compared,  431,  432. 

Mussulmans,  their  tales  of  Moham- 
med untrustworthy,  90  ;  their 
civilization,  184. 

Mytilenaians,  proposal  for  massacre 
of,  411. 

Nathan  the  Whe,  193—220  ;  how 
originated,  199;  expresses  Lea- 
sing's  theology,  213  ;  synopsis  of, 
213  ;  its  dramatic  qualities,  215  ; 
the  greatest  of  all  poems  with  a 
set  purpose,  216,  220. 

Nature  the  manifestation  of  an  in- 
finite God,  6. 


454 


INDEX 


Nazareth,  early  home  of  Jesus,  1 1 1 ; 
Jesus'  work  in,  120. 

Nebulae,  primeval,  9  ;  motion  of, 
155  found  in  different  stages  of 
development,  19. 

Nebular  Hypothesis,  9—26  ;  a  well- 
established  theory,  38. 

Negative-image  theory,  44—51  ; 
weakness  of,  47. 

Netherlands,  Motley's  History  of  the 
United  Netherlands,  276-309  ; 
in  the  Protestant  Reformation, 
285  ;  the  rebellion  in,  286  ;  re- 
publicanism in,  286-288  ;  truce 
negotiations  with  Spain,  287, 
288  ;  conditions  favourable  to, 
under  the  Roman  Empire  of 
Charles  the  Great,  305. 

Newman,  F.  W.,  on  the  proceed- 
ings of  Jesus  at  Jerusalem,  124. 

New  Testament  literature,  critical 
study  of,  obscured  by  dogmatism, 
96 ;  work  on,  by  F.  C.  Baur 
and  the  Tubingen  School,  97,  99, 
107. 

Nicolaitans,  Paul's  followers,  129. 

Nikaia,  Council  of,  on  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity,  168. 

Olympic  games,  389. 

Omar,  compared  with  the  apostle 
Paul,  175  ;  and  the  Alexandrian 
Library,  224—227. 

Oratorio,  the,  and  symphony  com- 
pared, 361—364;  as  an  expres- 
sion of  the  emotions,  363. 

Oratory  at  Athens,  411. 

Oriental  life,  character  of,  395,  396. 

Origen,  on  miraculous  conception  of 
Jesus,  153  ;  Christology  of,  1 68. 

Orissa,  famine  of  1866  in,  274. 
See  also  Bengal. 

Orosius  on  Alexandrian  Library,227. 

Other-worldliness,  150,  208. 

Paine's  (J.  K. )  oratorio  of  St. 
Peter,  347-365  ;  rendering  of,  at 
Portland,  347,357;  general  struc- 
ture of  ,  348  ;  its  originality,  354, 


355 
356. 


character   of  its  cadences, 


Painting,  in  art,  373  ;  ancient  and 
modern,  compared,  432. 

Papacy,  removal  of,  to  Avignon, 
280. 

Papias,  preferred  oral  traditions  of 
Jesus  to  written  gospels,  93  ;  on 
the  Logia  and  Memorabilia  of 
Matthew  and  Mark,  96  ;  on  the 
fourth  gospel,  104. 

Parker,  Theodore,  his  philosophy 
and  Lessing's  compared,  204,  206, 
208. 

Parma,  Alexander  Farnese,  Duke  of, 
and  the  siege  of  Antwerp,  268. 

Parrhasios  and  Zeuxis,  376. 

Parsons,  T.  W.,  his  translation  of 
Dante,  314. 

Pascal,  Blaise,  prose  of,  408. 

Paul,  the  Apostle,  the  four  genuine 
epistles  of,  90,  91  ;  spurious  epis- 
tles, 100  ;  attacked  in  the  Apoc- 
alypse, 1 04  ;  attacked  in  the  first 
gospel,  no,  128  ;  admission  of 
the  Gentiles  to  Messianic  king- 
dom, preached  by,  127  ;  his  per- 
secution of  the  Christians,  1 30  ; 
his  connection  with  the  Hellenists, 
131  ;  the  doctrine  of  the  resur- 
rection and,  136,  142—150;  on 
Jesus  as  Messiah,  143  ;  his  appre- 
hension of  faith,  143  ;  his  pro- 
found originality,  146  ;  his  theory 
of  salvation  through  the  second 
Adam,  147  ;  on  a  future  life, 
149  ;  did  not  regard  Jesus  as  su- 
perhuman, 1 50  ;  the  miraculous 
character  of  his  conversion,  171— 

»75- 

Paulo- Petrine  controversy,  no. 

Paulus,  H.  E.  G.,  on  New  Testa- 
ment literature,  97. 

Pentateuch  says  nothing  about  future 
state  of  retribution,  207. 

Persecution  and  murder,  292. 

Persistence  of  force,  7. 

Peter  opposed  Paul,  128. 

Petrine    disciples,     their     view     of 


455 


INDEX 


Christ's  mission,  130,  131  ;  un- 
heeded by  Paul,  130,  131  ;  the 
teachings  of  Jesus  and,  I3Z. 

Pharisees,  overthrow  of,  1 24 ;  ques- 
tioning Jesus,  126. 

Pheidippides  and  Pan,  414. 

Philip  the  Good  of  Burgundy  and 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  236. 

Philip  II.  of  Spain,  Protestant  Re- 
formation in  reign  of,  283  ;  J.  L. 
Motley  on,  289  ;  his  character, 
293—298  ;  his  murderous  deeds, 
294,  295  ;  his  death,  296  ;  his 
fanaticism,  297  ;  waste  of  his  vast 
resources,  298  ;  his  lack  of  states- 
manship, 299  ;  condition  of  the 
Spanish  people  under,  299—303. 

Philip  III.  and  expulsion  of  the 
Moors  from  Spain,  303. 

Philip  IV.  of  France  and  the  power 
of  the  Church,  280. 

Philippians,  Epistle  to  the,  shows 
progress  of  Christian  doctrine,  1335 
Gnostic  doctrines  in,  158-160. 

Philonian  theory,  161,  162. 

Philosophy,  ancient,  methods  of, 
hampered  by  imperfections  of  lan- 
guage, 2  ;  fairy  tales  a  form  of,  2  ; 
theories  of,  largely  guesswork,  4. 

Philosophy  of  Art,  A,  366-394. 

Phrygian  cadence,  357. 

Pilate,  Pontius,  ill. 

Planets,  and  the  nebular  hypothesis, 
9-26  ;  motion  of,  10-15  ;  rela- 
tive size  of,  II;  ultimate  fate  of, 

12. 

Platonic  notion  of  "grossness"  of 
matter,  49  ;  Platonic  metaphysics, 
161  ;  Platonic  dialogues,  407. 

Pleroma,  or  "fulness  of  God,"  1 57, 
159;  in  Christ,  161,  164. 

Pncuma,  as  a  constituent  of  Jesus, 
150,  152,  154,  1 60;  as  the  son 
of  God,  157. 

Poetry  in  art,  373. 

Political  life,  of  ancient  Athenians, 
410  ;  in  America,  429. 

Polycarp  on  the  Apostle  John,  104. 

Polytheism  outgrown,  144. 


Pope,  Alexander,   his  translation  of 

Homer,  341. 
Portinari,  Beatrice,  date  of  death  of, 

247. 

Portland  choral  society,  357. 
Power,  Unknown,  in  production  of 

material    phenomena,     67,     68  ; 

may  be  identical  with  Deity,  68. 
Praetorius,  353. 
Prevost-Paradol,  L.    A.,   prose    of, 

426. 
Priestley,  Joseph,  on  the  future  life, 

47- 

Primordial  medium,  as  spiritual,  49. 
Protestant  Reformation,  resume  of, 

280-284 ;  place  of  the    Nether- 
lands in,  285. 
Proverbial  sayings,   improbability  of, 

226. 

Prussia,  education  in,  426. 
Psychical  phenomena    and    material 

phenomena,  incommensurable,  53; 

in  present   and  unseen  world,  57. 

See  also  Consciousness,  Thought. 
Puritanism  and  art  in  England  and 

America,  369. 

Quartodeciman  controversy,  and  the 
fourth  gospel,  95,  104. 

Rain,  Jewish  theory  of,  138. 

Recognition  of  friends  in  a  future 
life,  61. 

Reimarus,  H.  S.,  his  Apology  for 
the  Rational  Worshippers  of  God, 
194—197  ;  deistic  views  of,  200. 

Religion,  real  harmony  between 
science  and,  3,  7  ;  so-called  con- 
flict between  science  and,  3,  187, 
190,  191  ;  Draper  on  science 
and,  182—192;  essence  of  true, 
189  ;  with  what  it  conflicts,  192  ; 
Lessing's  view  of,  206—213  >  t^e 
dark  side  of,  212  ;  of  the  ancient 
Athenians,  413—416. 

Religious  development,  M.  Renan 
on,  282. 

Renan,  Ernest,  his  Vie  de  Jesus,  87, 
101  ;  his  Saint-Paul,  133  ;  his 


456 


INDEX 


Lei  Apotres,  1 70  ;  on  the  Apostle 
Paul,  175  j  on  rejection  of  mira- 
cles, 178. 

Republicanism  inaugurated  by  the 
Dutch,  288. 

Resurrection,  doctrine  of  the,  essen- 
tial to  the  success  of  Christianity, 
135,  144  ;  origin  of,  136  ;  how 
it  should  have  produced  the  effect 
it  did,  137  ;  necessary  to  prove 
Christ's  Messiahship,  141  ;  Paul- 
ine theory  of,  142-150  ;  original 
theory  modified,  148  ;  influence 
of,  on  Christological  speculation, 
150. 

Retribution,  future  state  of,  142, 
208. 

Reuss,  E.  G.  E.,  and  Biblical  criti- 
cism, 101. 

Reville,  Albert,  and  Biblical  criti- 
cism, 1 01  ;  his  Histoire  du  Dogme 
de  la  Di"vinite  de  Jesus-Christ, 
133;  on  the  Pneuma,  157;  on 
Jesus  and  the  Logos,  164,  165. 

Rhyme  in  Dante  and  in  Tennyson, 
312. 

Richard  III.  of  England  in  the  light 
of  modern  criticism,  222. 

Roger  of  Pontigny  and  Thomas  a 
Becket,  93. 

Rogers,  Henry,  review  of  M.  Re- 
nan's  Les  Apotres,  170. 

Rossetti,  W.  M.,  translation  of 
Dante,  345. 

Rotation  of  system  of  particles,  10. 

Rutherford,  Thomas,  on  religious 
toleration,  195. 

Sabellius  on  doctrine  of  the  Trinity, 

168. 
Sainte-Beuve,    C.    A.,    remark   on 

history,   221  ;    productiveness  of, 

404. 
St.    Peter,    oratorio    of,    347-365. 

See  Paine. 

Sakyamuni  and  Jesus,  88,  92,  115. 
Salvador,  Joseph,  Jesus-Christ  et  sa 

Doctrine,  136. 
Satan,  the  Jewish,  138,  156. 


Saturn,  moons  and  rings  of,  1 1  j 
heat  of,  12,  79. 

Savonarola,  Girolamo,  fate  compared 
with  that  of  Jesus,  126. 

Scherer,  Edmond,  and  Biblical  criti- 
cism, 101. 

Schleiermacher,  F.  E.  D.,  on  New 
Testament  literature,  97. 

Schubert,  F.  P.,  inferior  to  Men- 
delssohn in  technique,  432. 

Schumann,  Robert,  inferior  to  Men- 
delssohn in  technique,  432. 

Schwegler,  A.  F.  K.  F.,  his  Post- 
Apostolic  Times,  100. 

Science,  real  harmony  between  reli- 
gion and,  3,7;  so-called  conflict 
between  religion  and,  3,  187,  190, 
191  ;  more-crude  and  less-crude 
opinions  in,  3,  191  ;  and  com- 
mon-sense, 78  ;  Draper  on  science 
and  religion,  182—192  ;  the  theo- 
logian and,  190  ;  art  and,  380. 

Sculpture,  in  art,  373  ;  Greek,  391, 

393- 

Semler,  J.  S. ,  on  New  Testament 
literature,  975  and  Lessing,  197. 

Sermon  on  the  Mount,  115. 

Shakespeare,  William,  his  Othello, 
218. 

Sheol,  in  Jewish  cosmology,  137  j 
in  Jewish  theology,  139. 

Shepherd  of  Hermas,  157. 

Sidereal  evolution,  20. 

Sinus,  20. 

Sixteenth  century,  advantage  of  its 
position  in  history,  277  ;  transi- 
tional character  of  its  history, 
278  ;  position  of  physical  science, 
England,  France,  Spain,  and  the 
Netherlands  in,  278-280 ;  Pro- 
testant Reformation  in,  280—283. 

Slavery,  at  Athens,  386,  398;  re- 
lations of  master  and  slave,  399; 
compared  with  slavery  in  Southern 
States,  399,  421. 

Smarrita,  significance  of  the  Italian 
word,  313. 

Social  conditions  and  art,  381. 

Society  and  individuals,  438,  439. 


457 


INDEX 


Sokrates,  fate  compared  with  that  of 
Jesus,  126;  his  life  and  method 
of  teaching,  a  sign  of  culture 
among  the  Athenians,  406,  407  ; 
his  freedom  of  opinion,  416. 

Solar  heat,  generation  and  dissipation 
of,  12,  15—18  ;  amount  of,  12  ; 
waste  of,  1 6  ;  develops  and  sus- 
tains life,  1 6,  17;  Helmholtz's 
theory  of,  83. 

Solar  nebula,  primitive,  9. 

Sophia  or  personified  ffisdom,  157  ; 
identified  with  the  Logos,  162. 

Soul,  question  of  its  existence  apart 
from  physical  phenomena,  61, 
64—66  ;  God  and  the  soul  the 
only  conceptions  that  answer  to 
real  existences,  69. 

Spain,  causes  of  the  failure  of  its 
civilization,  300  ;  results  of  un- 
ceasing religious  warfare  in,  300, 
301,  303  ;  despotism  in,  301  ; 
Moors  in,  301,  303  ;  idleness  in, 
302;  literary  achievement  of  Cer- 
vantes an  honor  to,  304. 

Spain  and  the  Netherlands,  276—309. 

Sparta ,  social  constitution  of,  3  8  8 , 3  8  9. 

Species,  extinction  of,  6. 

Speculation  in  breadstuff's,  a  safe- 
guard against  famine,  267  ;  for- 
bidden during  the  Bengal  famine 
of  1770,  267;  forbidden  during 
the  siege  of  Antwerp,  269—271  ; 
allowed  during  the  Bengal  famine 
of  1866,  273. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  his  philosophy 
compared  with  Lessing' s,  204. 

Spheroidal  shape  of  nebulae  due  to 
rotation,  10. 

Spinoza,  Benedikt  or  Baruch  de, 
founder  of  modern  Biblical  criti- 
cism, 97,  202 ;  influence  on 
Lessing,  202. 

Spiritual  body,  48. 

Spiritual  substance,  70. 

Stars,  lie  mostly  in  one  plane,  19  ; 
resemble  sun  and  planets  in  chemi- 
cal composition,  19—21. 

Stephen,  death  of,  130. 


Stewart,  Balfour,  Unseen  Universe, 
or  Physical  Speculations  on  a  Fu- 
ture State,  8. 

Stoicism,  208. 

Strauss,  D.  F.,  his  Der  alte  und  der 
neue  Glaube,  76  ;  his  Life  of 
Jesus,  98,  107  ;  his  Ne<w  Life 
of  Jesus,  101  ;  on  Jesus'  con- 
ception of  Deity,  1 1 6  ;  on  anti- 
Pauline  bias  of  Matthew,  128  ; 
on  liberal  spirit  of  Jesus,  132; 
anticipated  by  Lessing,  202,  203. 

Strepsiades,  422. 

Struve's  theory  of  absorption  of  light 
rays  by  ether,  35. 

Style,  literary,  408. 

Success,  American  idea  of,  422. 

Sun,  as  nebulous  mass,  9,  15,  18  ; 
heat  of,  12,  1 6-1 8  ;  must  ulti- 
mately become  cold,  13. 

Sun  spots,  periodicity  of,  13. 

Symphony,  the,  and  oratorio  com- 
pared, 361-364  ;  as  an  expression 
of  emotions,  362. 

Tacitus  in  the  light  of  modern  criti- 
cism, 223. 

Taine,  H.  A.,  his  life,  366-368; 
his  works,  368  ;  The  Philosophy 
of  Art,  366,  372-394. 

Tait,  P.  G.,  Unseen  Universe,  or 
Physical  Speculations  on  a  Future 
State,  8. 

Tayler,  J.  J.,  The  Fourth  Gospel, 
103. 

Teleological  solution  of  the  problem 
of  existence  craved,  73. 

Temperature  of  solar  system,  12. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  and  religion,  210; 
rhyme  in  In  Memoriam,  312; 
and  individuality,  438. 

Tertullian,  on  the  fourth  gospel,  95  ; 
Christology  of,  1 68. 

Theophilus,  destroyer  of  the  Alexan- 
drian Library,  227. 

Thessalonians,  Second  Epistle  to  the, 
on  millenarism,  148. 

Thomson,  Sir  William,  on  dissipa- 
tion of  energy,  22,  24  ;  on  theory 


458 


INDEX 


of  vortex-atoms,   31-35,  38;  on 

the  size  of  atoms,  52. 
Thought,  as  affecting  the  seen  and 

the  unseen  world  simultaneously, 

45  ;   and  molecular  motion  in  the 

brain,  54. 

Thugs  in  Bengal,  262. 
Tiberius,  Roman  Emperor,  1 1 1  ;  in 

the    light    of    modern    criticism, 

223. 
Tides,  their  effect  upon  planetary  and 

solar  rotation,  13. 
Toleration    of    Deists,    by    Lessing, 

195- 

To-morrow  of  Death,  The,  77-86. 

Torquemada,  burner  of  books,  225. 

Translating,  a  difficult  task,  310; 
of  poetry,  two  methods  of,  315  ; 
realistic  method  of,  335,  345. 

Trinity,  doctrine  of  the,  in  the 
fourth  gospel,  165  ;  in  Christology, 
168,  169. 

Tubingen  School,  and  New  Testa- 
ment literature,  97,  99  ;  on  date 
and  place  of  synoptic  gospels,  108  ; 
its  work  anticipated  by  Lessing, 
202. 

Turkish  cadi's  letter  to  Mr.  Layard, 

395- 

Turks,  idleness  of,  395,  396. 
Tyndall,    John,    on     thought    and 

molecular  motion    in   the    brain, 

55- 

Undulatory  theory,  of  heat,  24  5  of 
light,  27  ;  well  established,  38. 

Uniformity  of  nature,  universal  as- 
sumption of,  7. 

United  States,  population  in,  419. 
See  American  civilization. 

Universe,  in  what  sense  infinite,  25  ; 
no  evidence  of  immortality  in,  41 ; 
is  the  manifestation  of  infinite 
Deity  to  our  finite  minds,  68. 

Unseen  universe,  illegitimate  use  of 
the  phrase,  51. 

Unseen  world,  as  purely  spiritual,  53, 
56,  6 1 -6  6;  removed  from  the 
jurisdiction  of  physical  inquiry,  72. 


Valens,  destruction  of  pagan  libraries, 

225. 
Valentinus,    on    the    fourth   gospel, 

1 04 ;  on  miraculous  conception  of 

Jesus,  1 60. 
Vignier,  Father,  discovery  of  papers 

relating  to  Jeanne  d'Arc,  228. 
Visigoths  in  Spain,  300. 
Voltaire,  F.  M.  A.  de,  209,  408. 
Vortex-atom  theory,  29-36. 
Vortex-motion,    defined,   29 ;    in  a 

frictionless  fluid,  30—34. 

Wagner,  Richard,  irregularity  of  his 

musical  structure,  432. 
Wallace,  William,  in  the  light  of 

modern  criticism,  222. 
Wallon,  H.  A.,  history  of  Jeanne 

d'Arc,  231,  241. 
Wars,    considered    criminal,     293  ; 

public  and  private,  420. 
Wealth,  chief  end  of  life  in  America, 

422,  423. 

Westphalia,  peace  of,  277. 
William  the  Silent,  and  civil  liberty, 

289  ;  murder  of,  294. 
Wisdom,  personified,  162. 
Witte,  Karl,  his  translation  of  Dante, 

330. 

Wives  in  Athens,  400. 
Word  about  Miracles,  A,  170—181. 
Worlds,    mutually    interpenetrating, 

28. 
Wright,    I.  C.,   his   translation   of 

Dante,  317. 

Xenophon's  Anabasis,  412. 
Ximenes,  Cardinal,  burning  of  Arabic 
manuscripts  by,  225. 

Young,  Thomas,  on  interpenetrating 
worlds,  28. 

Zeller,  Eduard,  his  Acts  of  the  Apos- 
tles, 100  ;  on  Jesus'  conception  of 
Deity,  r  1 6  ;  on  liberal  spirit  of 
Jesus,  132;  on  Christ's  resurrec- 
tion, 136. 

Zeuxis  and  Parrhasios,  376. 


459 


Electrotyped  and printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &>  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


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